A Rose Among the Thorns
by Nytd
Summary: Twelve years after being kidnapped by pirates, Madeline Gray has moved on with her life, even falling in love again when she thought it might never happen, but who she falls in love with once more surprises even her. Post AWE. Pirates of May Episode IV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** 3/4/09 I have had two readers this week tell me that they did not realize that this story is a sequel to a previous one, despite the fact that the summary says Episode IV. :D So if you find yourself here enjoying the story but a bit confuse because you didn't read the previous fics, at least pop on over and read Memories of May. This will make much more sense if you do!

Twelve years ago, a song was sung on the deck of the infamous pirate ship, the _Rogue Wave,_ about a great son of the sea who fell in love with a beautiful girl, but was destined to have only one night of passion with her, and then to be fated to remain apart from her, in love with her until the moment of his death.

It could have been a song about a certain pirate, and it could have been a song about a certain lady doctor, except for one small detail.

Someone forgot to tell the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea that was supposed to be the end of the story...

**A Rose Among the Thorns**

**Prologue: ~*~**

Midnight.

Blackness surrounded the even blacker ship

Solitude.

She was alone, but surely not at peace.

Few sounds other than those made by the soft waves lapping at the flanks of the _Black Pearl_ and the occasional creak of the ship's timbers broke the near silence of the hour.

Elizabeth Swann stood on deck, contemplating the still night around her, trying to endure a sleepless night that she knew might well be her last. While the past few hours had seemed a tortured eternity, she knew dawn was approaching faster than she'd care to admit.

Footsteps sounded on the deck behind her, and her attention shifted to the approaching person, although her gaze remained focused on the dark waves before her. She wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to talk to Jack at the moment, but she resigned herself to the fact that she ought to, since he was obviously concerned enough about her to come and find her this late.

"'Tis yer own doin' that's caused yer lack of sleep, I reckon...Y_er Majesty_."

Elizabeth glanced at Barbossa as he came to stand next to her and rested his hands on the railing, a brief look of mild surprise on her face when he turned out not to be who she expected, which quickly faded to a neutral one.

"Yes, thank you, I'm quite aware of that..._Captain_," she said back with just the same amount of sarcasm that he'd used.

"Yer resolved to destroy us all still, are yeh?" he asked, not looking at her, but with enough derision in his voice that she knew that he wore a slight sneer, even though she couldn't see it.

She sighed. "I am resolved that the Brethren will go to war," she said evenly. "Who ends up destroyed in the end remains to be seen."

"I see."

Elizabeth frowned a little and finally looked at her midnight companion, disliking his uncharacteristic lack of further argument. He merely glanced sideways at her and said nothing, and she both mistrusted what was possibly going on in his mind, and disliked the fact that he disapproved of her in some way.

As firm as her resolve had been, backed up by Jack's support when he sealed her fate and elected her King, she still felt an irrational need to explain herself to the infuriating man who stood next to her.

"You know, Jack agrees with me," she said, her tone a touch haughty to try and hide her insecurity, which she felt was not becoming to a Pirate King.

"Ah," he said, a touch overdramatically, "well, I guess that would make it all fine and dandy then, if Jack Sparrow approves of what ye be doin'."

Elizabeth turned away sharply, even though he wasn't looking at her, irritated because there was more to his comment than what appeared to be on the surface.

"And I suppose ye think it wiser to listen to the likes of him than the likes of me?" Barbossa asked, still watching the dark sea.

"I trust him, is all," Elizabeth replied, trying to keep the defensive aspect out of her words.

"But ye don't trust me," he accused quietly.

"I didn't say that," she said softly, not really sure whether she did or she didn't.

"You didn't have to."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to retort, and not knowing exactly what to say, she closed it again and remained silent.

"Yer a smart girl," he said, and Elizabeth was sure, that although he kept his eyes on the waves and his expression neutral, that there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

She couldn't help but smile to herself a little. "Glad you think so," she said, flipping the comment off her tongue a little smugly, as if she couldn't care less what he thought.

"Always have."

Her smile faded at the lack of sarcasm in his comment. "You have?" she asked, and then she berated herself silently for sounding like a little girl who was looking for approval.

"Aye." He faced her and leaned on his elbow on the railing, the slight smirk that she knew he was wearing visible now. "A right pain in me arse ye be more often than not, Missy, but it doesn't mean yer not one of the cleverest lasses I've met."

Elizabeth sported her own smirk. "I suppose that's quite a compliment, coming from you, Captain Barbossa."

"I suppose it is." His smirk drew into a slight roguish smile.

"And how long has it been since you've lavished such extensive compliments on a woman, Captain?" Elizabeth asked, already knowing the answer, and likewise knowing that he was unaware that she knew. "Ten years, perhaps? Twelve?" She relished the puzzled frown that appeared for an instant on Barbossa's face in response to her comment.

He didn't manage to hide all the annoyance in his voice when he answered. "What would make ye offer such an inane comment, Miss Swann?"

Elizabeth smiled. It was 'Missy' he called her when he was teasing or sarcastic, and it always became 'Miss Swann' when he was irritated with her. She examined her dirty fingernails casually. "Did I ever mention that Madeline Gray is a very good friend of mine?"

The surprised look on the older pirate's face was only there for an instant, but Elizabeth relished the small victory and continued. "I haven't seen her in some time, but I had the most _interesting_ conversation with her about a year and a half or so ago."

"_Interestin'_, ye say?" Barbossa asked, not being entirely successful in sounding casual.

"Aye," Elizabeth said, not saying anything else to see if he would take the bait. She watched him think over her comments, trying to outwait her and let her say more before he had to break down and ask. She didn't, and he finally relented, and she would have savored the second small victory in their frequent verbal tête-à-tête if it weren't for how cautious he sounded when he spoke.

"What did she say?" he asked softly, perhaps a bit of wariness in his eyes that she knew were focused on hers, even in the darkness on the deck of the _Pearl_. She knew him well enough to know that although it might not be obvious to a casual observer, that there was a trace of apprehension in his manner.

Elizabeth softened her tone as she spoke. "She told me what happened all those years ago...I read the letter you sent her," she replied a little awkwardly, not knowing what to expect from him in response.

"Ah." He turned away to lean on his arms against the railing and look out over the darkened waves again. "Is she well?" he asked, very quietly.

"Yes." Elizabeth debated about what else to say, knowing that she had stirred something in the man at the railing next to her that she hadn't witnessed in a long time. Not since the night he told her of how awful the curse he endured was, and spoke with such agonized longing of the things he'd lost.

"Everything alright, Elizabeth?" Jack's voice interrupted her conversation with Barbossa from a short ways across the deck, and she turned and nodded to him.

"Fine," she replied, giving him a weak smile, but letting him know that she could handle Barbossa on her own.

Jack shot a mistrustful glance in Barbossa's direction, and nodded at Elizabeth before leaving her alone again.

A few minutes passed with neither of them saying anything, and finally she spoke again. "I think I understand better why you did some of the awful and desperate things you did..."

"Do yeh now?" he asked casually, shooting her a look that said he wasn't about to apologize for anything he'd done anytime soon, and then glancing back at where Jack was heading below decks again. "Maybe you do. Seems as though ye did an awful an' desperate thing yerself, Missy."

Elizabeth was glad that it was dark as she felt the flush across her cheeks, knowing that Barbossa referred to how she'd doomed Jack in order to see to it that the others, and especially Will, was safe.

"We be more alike than I wager ye'd care to admit," he said, "and I'll give yeh a piece of advice about young Master Turner, whether or not ye'd be inclined to accept it."

Elizabeth said nothing, curious to hear what he was going to say.

Barbossa's steely blue stare softened for a moment. "Don't let 'im go, lass. 'Tis obvious there's somethin' there that ye'll regret losin' forever..."

His voice trailed off, and she knew he was speaking from experience. "You're probably right," she said very quietly.

"Aye, and right I am about a lot of other things ye'll not listen to me about," he replied with good-natured sarcasm, "so at least heed me warnin' 'bout this."

Elizabeth smirked once the sarcasm she was accustomed to reappeared in Barbossa's voice. "I may not be as _old_, or as _wise_ as you are, Captain Barbossa," she replied, earning herself a dirty look, "but let me give you a piece of advice, whether or not you'd be inclined to acquiesce."

"And what be that?" he asked, amusement at her reference to a long –past conversation between them in his voice.

"When this is over," she said, "if I were you, I'd pay a call to a certain doctor I know."

"A fool's errand," Barbossa spat, but his comment lacked any real bite. "She'll have moved on by now."

Elizabeth smiled. "I don't think so."

Barbossa rolled his eyes at her as if to dismiss the idea once more.

"Trust me on that at least," Elizabeth said, patting him on the arm before she turned to walk away. She halted a few paces away when he spoke once more.

"Elizabeth?"

She stopped in her tracks, knowing he was going to ask her something important. She couldn't ever recall him addressing her like that.

"Would you wait that long, for someone that..." he broke off, clearly a bit uncomfortable with the conversation, "...that ye truly...loved?"

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at him and gave him a tiny smile, and then nodded. "Yes, and so would she."

"Well, then perhaps I'll be takin' yer advice," he said, back to his usual arrogant charm, "if I survive what ye put us through tomorrow, _Yer Majesty_."

"And perhaps I'll take yours, if I survive whatever else it is you may be planning, _Captain_ Barbossa," Elizabeth answered back in the same manner.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes a little at him as he merely smirked at her and nodded his head once in a small deferent but mocking bow.

~o~

Elizabeth prepared to leave the _Pearl_ at last, with the battle over and the _Endeavor_ at the bottom of the sea. The remainder of the EITC fleet had scattered, not wanting to face the Brethren with the _Flying Dutchman_ and the _Black Pearl_ leading the charge. It was over...for now.

The crew was gathered around to see her off, and some of those she knew best stood near, waiting to pay their respects and say goodbye. She took a deep breath and strode forward, glancing at where Barbossa stood with his hands resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

"Mrs. Turner," he said softly, nodding once gallantly to pay his respects.

Elizabeth met his gaze, and couldn't help but smirk in response to the tiny wry smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He knew that she'd taken his advice, and indeed had helped her do so when he'd performed the unorthodox marriage in the midst of the maelstrom.

She said nothing, knowing that she didn't need to, and neither did he, the man who had been her enemy, her captor, her mentor, her ally, and dare she say in some odd way, a friend? Perhaps.

She turned away, a faint smile on her lips, knowing by the look they'd exchanged that he planned on taking her advice as well.

~o~

And so the story continues...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One ~*~**

~o~

The view was spellbinding from where I was.

The bright Caribbean sun glinted off the turquoise water far below the cliff, and a beach of sugar-white sand stretched off into the distance, some ways over to my left.

Seabirds wheeled and dove, feeding hungrily in the shallows, and a pair of dolphins frolicked together in the waves, darting here and there and around the black ship that was anchored a short way off shore, chasing each other in a game of tag around and under the hull.

Surrounding the beach was a jungle – lush trees and foliage, splashed here and there with a myriad of colors caused by the riot of flowers that were in bloom most of the year.

It was a tropical paradise, complete with a soft Caribbean breeze that was tugging at my hair, but it would have been quite a bit more enjoyable, really, had I not been viewing the scene below from where I was hanging, suspended at the end of an old tree root that protruded from the edge of the cliff I have mentioned.

I held on desperately and screamed for all I was worth.

"JACK!"

It was only a moment before the bandana'd head of my companion appeared briefly to peer down at where I was in a very precarious position, several feet below, and then disappeared again.

"JACK! Don't leave me here!" I screamed again, knowing that I wouldn't be able to hold on for very long. I made the mistake of looking down at the breakers that were crashing on the rocky base of the island, quite some distance below where my feet dangled.

Jack Sparrow poked his head over the side again, grimaced at me, and yelled down in return. "But he'll get to the _Pearl_ first!"

"Damn the bloody _Pearl_, Jack! I need help _now_!" I cried out.

I knew that he was in a quandary as to what course of action to take where he stood at the top of the cliff over my head. While I know he realized, on some level, that he couldn't leave me hanging over the edge of the cliff, for the moment he was wrestling with the choice of leaving me to fend for myself, and getting to the _Black Pearl_ first, or taking time to help me, and risking the very likely possibility that he would again lose his beloved ship to the one man who had taken it from him twice before.

The root I was clinging to pulled out of the dirt two or three inches, and I knew I didn't have time for him to wage war with himself over the decision much longer. "JAA-AA-AACK!" I screamed again.

"He's going to steal my bloody ship!" Jack cried frantically, appearing at the top of the cliff again, and pointing behind him at the path that led to the bottom of the cliff.

"He's not going anywhere without me, you idiot!" I called up, hoping it was in fact true, and that Jack wouldn't take the insult to heart at that point.

Jack frowned, thinking this over, and then disappeared, apparently not as convinced as I was that I wouldn't be left behind on the island.

Thinking he'd abandoned me to deal with my troubles on my own, I scrutinized the cliff face over my head, trying to see if there might be some way to haul myself to the top.

~o~

I realize at this point that I must clarify a few things before continuing on with this story, so that the reader might have a better understanding of how I came to find myself in such a predicament.

While I am sure that the name of Captain Jack Sparrow is one the reader is well acquainted with, I must take a moment to make a brief introduction for myself.

My name is Madeline Gray, and I am the director of medical services at the hospital in Port Royal, Jamaica. I am the third generation of the Gray family to have become a physician, and I have the distinction of becoming the first woman to graduate from the medical college back home near Wiltshire, incidentally, at the top of my class.

What you need to know for the purpose of this story, are two of my other experiences that will make the reason for my tale more apparent. In another life of mine, some eleven or so years before, I had been kidnapped by the pirate that Jack Sparrow considered to be his nemesis for quite some time, and through a series of unlikely, but nevertheless life-changing events for me, I found myself the only one to ever have been given the title Ship's Doctor to the _Rogue Wave_.

The _Rogue Wave_, in her previous life, had been otherwise known as the _Oxford_, which was the flagship of Henry Morgan, sometimes interim lieutenant governor of Jamaica, and at the time, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea.

When Morgan retired he passed the ship on to his young and ambitious protégé, who had renamed her the _Rogue Wave_, and set about making a name for himself as one of the most feared pirates and accomplished swordsmen in the Caribbean.

This brings me to the second thing I would have you know before I continue my tale.

While I mentioned that I had been kidnapped in the past by the pirate captain of the _Rogue Wave_, what I have failed to mention up until this point, is that over eleven years ago, whether or not I had ever previously thought such a thing possible, I had fallen in love with that pirate.

I am sure the reader, although perhaps not acquainted with the entirety of my previous tale, is however, familiar with the name of Hector Barbossa, captain of the _Rogue Wave_, sometimes captain of the _Black Pearl_, and presently, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea.

What you may not know about Captain Barbossa, as there are not many people who do, is that over eleven years ago, he had become smitten with the young doctor he had taken captive. While it would take too much time to explain the entire story in detail, suffice it to say that we had each left our mark upon the other, and nearly twelve years later, that indelible mark remained on us both.

Perhaps I should go back and explain things.

There was a night, a dozen years ago, shortly after I had spent a month and a half on board the _Rogue Wave_, when I had gone before the governor and the magistrates to present my proposal for building a hospital that the growing colony of Jamaica desperately needed. I had expected some opposition, but was able to overcome it as I already had purchased the necessary land with a chest of gold coins sent to me by Hector Barbossa.

I assure you, it is true – the hospital in Port Royal was entirely funded with stolen pirate treasure. It was a better use of the gold than it being spent on the things that pirates spend gold on, as Barbossa had so aptly put it.

Little did I know that evening, when I stepped through the door to fight for the hospital I wanted, that across the Caribbean another power struggle was underway. By morning, while I would find myself with the right to build the hospital I'd wanted for so long, Jack Sparrow would find himself marooned on a tiny spit of land with a single pistol and a broken compass, and the _Black Pearl_ would have herself a new captain.

Over the next two years, I threw myself into my work at the new hospital, trying to bury my nagging fear that something was terribly wrong, and I began to doubt as time went by, wondering if I should have listened to Lily all that time ago.

By Lily, I mean Lilith Davenport, better known in the Caribbean as Tortuga Lily, mistress of shall I say, _entertainment_, at an establishment known as the _Mermaid_ in Tortuga. I had met Lily, who was, for lack of a better term, an old flame of Barbossa's, and she had, out of jealousy, warned me not to let myself get too close to him for fear that he would make a game out of reeling me in.

At the time I had no reason to doubt the things that Barbossa had said to me, or the promise he'd made on the _Rogue _and in his final letter that he'd return, and I put my faith in him and not in her.

However, when the stories of the _Black Pearl_ began to spread across the Caribbean like a shadow, my fear that I'd been long since forgotten grew, and I became convinced that Barbossa had forsaken me at last, for the love of his ship and of pirating.

Heartbreak is a bitter painful thing, especially when it happens very slowly over time, and my heart would break for the next ten years. How many times I read the letter he'd written me during that time, I do not know, but suffice it to say that the writing has all but faded, and the creases have nearly worn through the paper.

I read the letter less and less over time, finding the promise he had made too painful to consider, and though I did my best to carry on with my life, and enjoy what I could of each day, I took no notice of the occasional well to do merchant, or a few of the officers from Fort Charles, that periodically seemed to express an interest in spending time with me.

I kept telling myself that none of them were right for me, but the hard truth I avoided was that none of them were the man who still held part of me prisoner.

Things in Port Royal became more interesting for a time the second year after the hospital had opened. I'd found it necessary to hire two more doctors, one of them another woman, of course, as the population of Jamaica grew.

We celebrated the arrival of new marines at Fort Charles, and a new commanding officer, the young and handsome James Norrington.

The governor had died the year prior, and arriving along with Norrington was our new governor, Weatherby Swann, accompanied by his young daughter, Elizabeth.

I recall meeting Governor Swann at the ball thrown in honor of his arrival, and found him to be an agreeable older gentleman of kindly manner and pleasant disposition. He'd allowed young Elizabeth to attend the ball that night, and I spoke with her for a few moments after she discovered that I was in fact, a doctor.

"That's ever so exciting," she said, with the unfettered enthusiasm that comes from being so young. "I've never met a doctor who was a woman before." Her bright eyes met mine. "I'll bet you're every bit as good as the men."

"Even better," I said jokingly. I smiled back at her, noting that someday she was going to be a young lady of quite some beauty, and I wondered if she looked like her mother. I knew at least that I resembled mine, as I'd known her until I was about the same age as Elizabeth, but from what I'd heard, Elizabeth's mother had died when she was still quite young, and the girl likely had little memory of her.

I would get to know Elizabeth over the next few years fairly well, taking on the sometimes role of older sister, and I'd like to think that I gave her good advice and set a good example for the young lady. Her father seemed to think that I was a positive role model for her, although I am sure he was concerned about my apparent desire to remain independent, and not marry by my age.

What neither Elizabeth nor I would know for the next eight years, was how much more we would end up having in common besides each of us being without a mother, and traveling in the same circles in Jamaican society.

~o~

It took me a little longer than normal to walk back to the hospital to check on a few patients, in the fog that continued to blanket Port Royal that fateful evening. I had finished with the last one and had a word with one of the other doctors, and headed back down the hill toward home.

It was then that the same sound that haunted my nightmares hissed through the darkness, and I found myself ducking involuntarily even before the first cannonball struck the fort. More blasts came from the harbor, and I knew at that moment the town was under assault.

I ran to the edge of the bluff that the hospital sat on and caught sight of the ship below, blacker than the _Rogue_ had ever been, ragged and shrouded in mist that seemed to emanate from her rather than surround her.

I might have made the assumption she was there to rescue Jack Sparrow, who had been apprehended earlier that day, if it weren't for the fact that I spotted the flag that snapped open at that moment at the top of her mainmast, and I felt like someone had tossed a bucket of cold water on me when I recognized the skull and crossed swords.

That flag belonged to one man, and I knew that below me in the harbor, somewhere near the helm of that ship, was the pirate I'd met ten years before.

While I couldn't possibly sum up all the things I felt at that moment, the one thing that became apparent over everything else was the fact that the _Black Pearl_, as I knew this ship must be called, was wrecking havoc on my home.

As stupid as it may sound, I ran for all I was worth down the hill and toward the harbor. I didn't know why Barbossa would do such a thing, if he knew that I remained in Port Royal, but my hope was that if I could somehow get to the black ship, I might be the one person that could call him off, and save lives in the process.

I ran onward, hoping that my opinion might carry some shadow of its former influence with the ship's captain.

Whether or not I could have put a stop to Barbossa's devastation of Port Royal that night, I will never know. I found myself running toward the harbor past a man that appeared to be dead, and then past another who was bleeding profusely from a terrible wound in his leg. The amount of blood he lost would have been fatal, I am sure, if I hadn't stopped to help him, and by the time I managed to put a stop to his hemorrhaging, the cannon fire had ceased and the _Black Pearl_ had faded into the fog.

Once I realized that the _Pearl _was gone, I also found that I had my work cut out for me for the next twenty -four hours, as did the other two doctors at the hospital.

I had heard that Elizabeth had been kidnapped, and would have done anything and everything in my power to help, if I was not already doing anything and everything in my power to save some of the lives that were in jeopardy of being lost as a result of the attack by the _Black Pearl_.

Guilt is a curious thing, and it can play havoc with us whether it belongs rightly to us or not, and in addition to feeling guilty about Elizabeth, I felt somehow responsible for what had happened to my patients. Why I should have felt that way, I don't know, but as I have said, guilt is an odd thing, indeed.

I had resolved to try to get to the jail to speak with Jack Sparrow, the person I thought most likely to know how to go about finding Barbossa, when I had a chance to get away from surgery, but as it turned out, Will Turner had beaten me to the punch and had sprung the pirate from jail and helped him to commandeer the _Interceptor_.

There was nothing I could do as the days passed except tend to my patients and hope for some word of what fate had befallen Elizabeth and Will, Sparrow and Barbossa.

The day the _Dauntless _arrived back in Port Royal, I was summoned at once by the governor to see to Elizabeth's injuries, and I remembered the defeated look on Will's face as he walked by me. I offered to examine the wound he had bandaged on his hand, but he merely gave me a weak smile and said 'later'.

The pirates had caused heavy losses to the crew of the _Dauntless_, and I hurried to see Elizabeth, anxious to verify that she was alright, and anxious as well, to find out what had happened.

She still wore a ragged and dirty marine's uniform when I got to her rooms, and she looked completely exhausted.

"Elizabeth!" I cried, going to embrace her at once. "I'm so glad to see you are well," I said in earnest, not feeling up to using the word 'alive'. "Let me see that." I sat down with her on the edge of her bed and unwrapped the inflamed, but superficial laceration across her palm.

"This should heal fine without stitches," I said, "but you're going to have to keep it clean and dry."

She nodded, and let me cover the wound with a clean dressing, and then suddenly burst into tears.

"What is it?" I asked, knowing that she had been through something awful.

"Oh, it's all wrong, now," she said. "Everything's just so wrong."

"What is it, Elizabeth?" I asked. "You can tell me."

She nodded at me, getting her tears under control. "So much has happened, Madeline, in such a short period of time. I'm engaged to James, I can't bear to look at Will, and Jack is going to be hung the day after tomorrow.

"By Jack, you mean Jack Sparrow?" I asked.

She nodded. "Captain…_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," she said quietly.

I recall raising an eyebrow at that statement. I knew the feeling well enough to know when I saw someone bitten by the pirate bug, and while Elizabeth was fretting over her decision about Norrington and Turner, I could sense that there was something else going on below the surface.

"Why don't you go back and start at the beginning, and we'll see if we can't make some sense of it all?" I asked, taking on the role of big sister instead of physician.

Elizabeth nodded and began her story of how she'd been kidnapped because she possessed the gold coin she'd always thought was a pirate medallion. I could tell that she was reliving the terror of being hauled on board the pirate ship, and I wanted ever so much to tell her that I knew what it felt like to be taken prisoner by Captain Barbossa.

_Exactly_, what it felt like.

I let her continue on until she retold the legend of the Aztec gold that had been imparted to her by Barbossa, and when she told me of the curse, and that she had witnessed its horrible effects first hand, I knew there was nothing in the world that was going to be able to explain the fact that the color had drained out of my face, and I felt as if I were going to faint.

"Madeline...Madeline, are you alright?" she asked.

I nodded weakly. "Yes, just a bit tired, that's all," I lied terribly, and she gave me a look that said she knew something was amiss, but continued on in telling her story.

"Listening to him was simply awful," she went on. "I was furious at him for what he was doing, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for the man, all of them actually, even though they were pirates."

"Why is that?" I asked, trying to stay composed.

"The things he said," she replied. "The tone of voice when he spoke...he seemed to feel such profound loss..."

I tried to make the fact that I stood up abruptly look casual, and I'm sure that Elizabeth thought me strange. I paced a little while she went on with the story, speaking of the island, and the _Pearl_, and Barbossa.

I envied her that she'd sat at the table to dine with him, wishing that it had been me sitting in the place I'd been accustomed to so many years before.

When she told me of how she'd thought she was about to die, and that Barbossa had merely drawn a little of her blood, thinking to end the curse, I had to stifle a bit of a laugh, picturing the wry grin I could see him giving her as he said he'd eat a whole bushel of apples.

I know that Elizabeth thought me a bit mad by that time, and she hesitantly went on about the chase at sea and finally to the duel between Sparrow and Barbossa. She spoke of seeing Jack driven back time and time again, battling to defend himself against the onslaught from Barbossa, and how she and Will had battled their own way back to the chest of cursed Aztec gold.

I wasn't prepared for how she would finish the story.

I knew that Barbossa would have likely defeated Jack under normal circumstances, but what I didn't understand was that Barbossa had let himself become emotional during the duel, desperate as he was to have the curse of ten years lifted, and in his frantic bid to regain control of the situation, made the mistake of pointing a pistol at Elizabeth and taking his eye off Jack Sparrow for one instant.

I was facing away from Elizabeth when she told me of the gunshot, and I hid my trembling hands in front of me. Nothing could have hidden the gasp that escaped from me when she told me of his death, and I clamped my hand over my mouth reflexively, stifling the sob that I knew was threatening to escape.

Not that it would have taken a genius to figure out that there was something terribly wrong, but Elizabeth Swann is a very smart young woman, and after eight years, she knew me quite well.

I'm glad that it was Elizabeth there with me the night the last piece of my heart broke, ten years after it had begun to crumble. No one else would have understood nearly as well, I am sure.

She came and placed a hand on my shoulder, and then wrapped me in a warm sisterly embrace as I wept, not knowing exactly what was wrong at that moment, but starting to have an inkling of what I might be going through.

We stood there in silence for a few long moments, and when at last I could speak, I did in a hoarse whisper. "I'm so glad you're alright, Elizabeth."

She smiled and nodded. "I don't think you are, though, Madeline," she said, "and I'm hoping that you'll let me understand why."

I nodded. "Get some rest," I advised her, hoping there might be some chance of me doing the same, but having serious doubts. "Will you come tomorrow for tea?"

"Aye," Elizabeth said softly, and if anyone else would have found her answer strange, I certainly didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to FreedomOftheSeas for scrutinizing another chapter and making some fabulous suggestions for me!

Infamous Hat poll: 7 no, 59 yes!

~o~

**Chapter Two ~*~**

~o~

_Sometimes in the light at the edge of the world_

_Is the ghost of a ship with its black sail furled_

_And night after night she would stand on the shore_

_And dream of the love that she knew before_

-Sting -_The Pirate's Bride_

_~o~_

If the longest night of my life had been the night that I'd spent locked in my cabin on board the _Rogue Wave_, wondering what would become of her as we were attacked by the HMS _Valiant,_ the second longest night of my life was that night after I left Elizabeth and returned to my small, quiet house.

I kept praying for sleep to overtake me; to give me some temporary relief from the wracking grief that I felt, but I spent the entire night awake, alternating between sobbing emotionally, and staring blankly at the dark wall.

I alarmed my colleagues the next morning at the hospital, as terrible as I must have looked, and they promptly ganged up on me, and seniority or no, sent me packing for home to try and get some rest.

I had almost forgotten I had invited Elizabeth to tea that afternoon, and I only remembered when I heard her knock on my door, and I let her in with an apology for not having even put on a kettle.

"Don't bother," she said, untying the lovely hat she wore and flinging it from her head to the table. "I bet anything your story calls for more than tea," she added, and she promptly had the audacity to pull a bottle of rum from inside her bag.

If ever I had felt a sisterly connection to Elizabeth Swann, it was certainly at that moment, and I laughed as she handed me the bottle and went to fetch a couple of mugs from the kitchen, not bothering with any of the delicate glassware.

I laughed again when she presented them to me, and I promptly opened the rum in the pirate manner of breaking the top part of the bottle off against a corner of the table, only because I lacked any manner of gun.

Elizabeth and I both fell to another fit of giggles, and finally managed to settle on the couch companionably with two measures of rum.

"Alright," she said raising her mug, "a toast first, and then your story."

"What shall we toast?" I asked her, holding up my own drink.

She thought it over for a minute and then spoke. "To all the women who ever loved a pirate," she said, and she clunked her mug heartily against mine.

"Now," she said, turning to me once again. "You've had my pirate story, Madeline. Won't you tell me yours?"

I believe that I've already said that Elizabeth Swann was a smart young woman.

We had to refill our mugs again for me to get through the entire story, but during all that time, Elizabeth never once scoffed at me or looked as though she disbelieved a word I was saying. She listened attentively, looking thoughtful at times.

She couldn't resist giving me just a bit of hard time, like any real sister would have, about my one evening with Michael Bellamy, and she laughed out loud when I told her of how Turk constantly insulted Barbossa's hat. I trusted her enough to tell her of the day I shot the navy lieutenant, and she stopped me long enough to tell me what I already knew –that she'd never tell another living soul.

When I told her of the last time Barbossa had kissed me and then walked away, I think she had firmly changed a lot of her opinion of the man, and I could tell that she no longer was quite as relieved he was dead.

"Funny how your perspective can change so suddenly and so drastically," she said quietly. "It's really all rather hard to take in."

I got up at that point and went to my bookshelf, and took down the volume I kept the letter in. Elizabeth looked at me questioningly as I handed it to her.

"This arrived three weeks later with a chest of gold coins," I said, sitting back down. "Go ahead. You're the only person I'd ever let read this."

Elizabeth nodded, and opened the letter. She read it carefully, laughing once or twice as she did. She looked up halfway through. "What was it to be, Padstow or Wiltshire?" she asked me softly.

I shrugged. "It didn't matter. Padstow, I guess. It's not that far from Wiltshire, and I think he needed to go home more than I did."

Elizabeth returned to her reading and raised her brow in surprise a little further along. She looked up at me again. "Is the hospital really...?"

"Paid for in pirate gold?" I asked. "Of course."

Elizabeth went back to reading again and then snorted once. "'_I don't expect that to last for long_'...was he speaking of the voyage on the _Pearl _or Jack's time being captain?"

"Take whichever version you're inclined to believe," I said. "I think he meant both."

Elizabeth nodded. "That sounds most like him."

When she finished the last of the letter, she had tears in her eyes when she looked at me.

"What?" I asked, wanting to know what she was thinking.

"It's all so sad," she said, "but it makes so much more sense now."

"What does?" I asked, not understanding where she was headed with her comment.

"Barbossa," she replied, "and why he did some of the things he did. They were the acts of a desperate man, Madeline, who had lost everything with the curse, including you."

"I suppose," I said with a shrug.

"I think he loved you, Madeline," she said firmly. "I couldn't see at the time what he was so desperate to regain because I thought less of him then."

"I know better now, and I think that what Barbossa would have done if he'd lived once the curse was lifted, would have been to steal the _Pearl_ out from under Jack again, and sail her straight away to Port Royal."

She handed the letter back to me. "Ten years," she said. "I bet he thought of you every day for ten years."

"What makes you so sure?" I asked, trying to bury my tears in my rum.

She smiled at me. "Why aren't you sure?" she asked, pointing at the letter.

When Elizabeth left, I guess I could say that I felt a little better, mostly about knowing that there was someone else out there whom I had been able to share my secret of ten years with, and that it was the person who could understand what I'd been through, and what Barbossa had meant to me the most.

Elizabeth kept my secret, saying nothing even to Will Turner, and I would learn from her later how Jack Sparrow had narrowly missed being hanged, and that she had in fact agreed to be Will's wife.

Nobody was happier for her than I was, and I was just relieved that she had followed her heart and not married James, just because that was expected of her.

As for Jack Sparrow, I had mixed feelings about the fact that he'd escaped. I hadn't been able to bring myself to go to his hanging, as I thought it would be too painful to actually see the man who had killed Barbossa, and I couldn't honestly say that I wouldn't, on some level, have been glad to see him punished, but I also knew he was responsible for saving Elizabeth's life. He wasn't the first pirate I knew of to cause me conflicted feelings.

Port Royal had been under the influence of the East India Trading Company for quite some time by then, and my neighbor, Charles Beckett, had been relentless in spreading the company's influence.

Thing were to only get worse once Charles' brother, Cutler arrived back in Jamaica, now promoted and letting it definitely go to his head. I'd only met him once at a dinner party some years before, and from what I could tell, the man's ambitions knew no bounds.

It wouldn't be long, thanks to him, that Elizabeth and Will would be off again on another adventure, each trying desperately to save the other from the prospect of facing the gallows.

It would be years before I'd see either one of them again, and for a very long time I had no idea what took place far across the Caribbean. For a very long time I knew nothing of Davy Jones, and Calypso, the gathering of the Brethren Court, or the battle of the maelstrom during which Cutler Beckett perished, and for a very long time, no one returned to Port Royal who might have ever told me that Hector Barbossa was not dead.

As for me, things continued along much as they had been, each day busy with patients, and an occasional afternoon off to work in my garden, or ride on the beach.

My horse was the one indulgence that I had allowed myself to purchase with the pirate gold left over from building the hospital, and for several years I'd owned a dapple gray Lusitano with an impressive pedigree behind him, who I simply called Rogue.

I was off for a ride one evening, having been in the mood to get away with Rogue for a short while, despite the fact that I had been hard at work all day. I always found peace when I was alone on the beach, and after feeling unsettled and anxious at work all day for some unknown reason, I knew the ride with him would do me good.

Upon returning from my ride, I decided to take Rogue up the bluff that the hospital sat on before putting him up for the night, so that I could take one last look in on an elderly patient of mine, and when I had finished, went out and mounted him with the intent of riding him back down the hill to where I kept him stabled.

I hesitated, patting his neck a little and glancing at the sunset that was nearly complete, admiring the colors of pink and orange that had washed across the sky. Knowing it would be dark soon, and wanting to get Rogue down the hill before darkness fell, I was adjusting my seat in my saddle when the flash of light caught my eye.

It was sudden and subtle, and I doubted a few minutes after I saw it that it had actually happened, but what I thought I'd seen, out of the corner of my eye, was a green flash of light on the horizon just as the sun disappeared beneath the waves.

~o~

The day that Amelia Groves was buried was a miserable, dreary, wet one, and the mourners who attended the sermon at her graveside didn't stay long, driven inside by the periodic downpours that occurred throughout the afternoon.

As for myself, I lingered behind a little longer than the rest, waiting until the last uniformed officer had patted Jonathan on the back with a word of comfort, and left him alone to stare at the fresh mound of dirt. I'd waited because I wanted to offer him some word of comfort, but mostly because I again wanted to tell him how sorry I was that there wasn't more I could have done to save her.

Not that anyone could have, and the affliction she had that caused her weakness, loss of coordination, and partial blindness, eventually progressed to include frequent episodes of random pain, and at last dementia. My two colleagues and I had worked tirelessly for months, trying to effect any change in the course of her disease with little or no success, and Amelia, mercifully, slipped into a coma for her last days that otherwise would have been full of pain, disorientation, blindness and fear.

"Jonathan," I said quietly, not wanting to startle him. He looked up at where I stood, his face paler than normal and contrasting starkly with the dark blue uniform he wore.

"Madeline," he said quietly, acknowledging me as we stood there in the rain.

"Jonathan, I wanted to tell you again how..."

He held up a hand and gave me a weak smile. "Madeline, we've been over this."

"I know, but I can't help but feel that somehow I'm responsible," I said guiltily.

"For what? For working day and night to try to help her? For making her last days as comfortable as possible?" he asked. "I've never seen anyone work so hard at anything before, and I'm certain that if you couldn't save Amelia, then it is because God did not intend for her to be saved."

"I suppose you're right," I said softly, relieved a little that he didn't blame me at all, but still bearing the guilt that plagues all physicians for a time whenever we lose any patient. I waited for another moment and then spoke again. "Are you well, Jonathan? Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm wet," he said simply. "I'm wet and cold and alone, and I would appreciate it so much if you might accompany me back to town." He glanced at where the last group of officers was well down the road from the churchyard. "They mean well, but they don't know what else to say, and they've scattered to try and avoid any awkwardness."

"Most people aren't comfortable discussing death," I said as we walked together back toward the fort. "When my mother died, everyone wanted to avoid talking about her, so they didn't make me or my father uncomfortable, but what they didn't understand was that we wanted to talk about her. We missed her and grieved for her profoundly, but if we never spoke of her again, it would have been like trying to forget that she lived at all."

Jonathan nodded. "Exactly. I'm glad you understand."

"Where will you go, now?" I asked, when we came to the place in the road where I would head for my house, and he for the fort or for home.

"I don't know," he said hoarsely, glancing in the direction of the home he had made with Amelia, and then up the hill toward the hospital and the fort. I suddenly realized that he seemed very much alone.

"Well, why don't you come in and let me make you dinner?" I asked, wanting to do something for the bereaved lieutenant. "It would do you good to have a decent meal and talk about Amelia, and then you should go and get a good night's sleep."

"I don't want to intrude, Madeline," he said tiredly.

"Nonsense. Doctor's orders," I said, taking him by the arm and leading him into my small living room to a comfortable armchair by the fire. "Sit and rest."

An hour or so later, I finished with dinner, and went to retrieve my exhausted companion from where he'd dozed off in my living room and led him to my small dining room table.

We spoke of my horse, and James Norrington's reinstatement in Port Royal, and of the ghastly weather we'd been having for the past three days. Finally, when dinner was over, Jonathan spoke up again. "Thank you, Madeline. I think that was the best meal I've had since..." He didn't finish.

"Since Amelia stopped being able to cook?" I finished for him, and he nodded across the table from me, eyes suddenly bright with tears. "She was a fabulous cook, wasn't she?"

He nodded again. "Fantastic," he croaked. "Except pie. Burned every one she ever made me." He began to laugh a bit, and suddenly dissolved into tears, leaning his forehead on his hand where his elbow rested on the table.

I folded my napkin and placed it on the table, and walked around to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. I would have very much liked to have given him a hug, but that sort of thing was frowned upon between a single woman and a man who had so recently become a widower, and so I stayed there with my hand on his shoulder, and his hand clamped gratefully over mine, until at last his tears stopped.

Jonathan left that night in mourning, but like all of us who had lost a loved one, managed to pick up the pieces of his life and go on.

Curiously enough, I was trying to do the same, having learned some time before, from Elizabeth, that the man who had held my heart prisoner all those years, was dead, setting me free from my long wait for his return.

As fate would have it, Jonathan and I began keeping company with one another some months later, picking up a relationship that had never quite gotten off the ground because of the incident with the flowers, several years back.

Whenever he wasn't on duty, I stole whatever time I could away from the hospital to go riding with him and to picnic near the shore, or to practice my rusty skills with a rifle under his watchful and affectionate supervision.

The day came when he found me putting a bridle on Rogue, getting ready to take him for a ride on the beach at sunset.

"Thought you could sneak off with that Portuguese rogue of yours without me, huh?" Jonathan asked from over my shoulder, nodding in the direction of my horse.

I knew he was teasing. "You could join us," I said after giving him a smile.

"You go on," he said. "Millie seems to still be a bit lame in her left front, and I'd like to give her another week of rest. I'll be here when you get back." I knew he referred to Millicent, his black mare.

"Come with me, Jonathan," I said, giving him another winsome smile. "Rogue can take both of us."

"Now, what would the good people of Port Royal say if they saw us riding that horse of yours together, Doctor Gray?" he asked, teasing again.

"It would be quite the scandal, I imagine," I replied, leading Rogue out of the stable without a saddle. I pulled myself up and swung a leg over his back, and looked down at where my dear lieutenant was struggling with what he should do. I was pretty sure that Rogue and I would have to enjoy the beach without him, but he surprised me, and in a most pleasant way, when he suddenly shrugged himself out of his uniform coat, hung it on a peg just inside the stable door along with his wig, and hoisted himself onto Rogue behind me.

"Lead on, Doctor," he said from behind me.

Once we were well away from Port Royal, and Rogue walked along leisurely at the water's edge, I passed the reins off to Jonathan, and he took them, using it as a pleasant excuse to put his arms around me. I leaned back against him, enjoying the feel of Rogue's gently rocking gait underneath us.

We rode together for some time like that, neither of us saying a word, but at last he suggested we walk for a bit, and we continued down the beach, the reins in one of his hands, and mine in his other.

"Madeline," he said, once we stopped to admire the sunset. "There's something I would speak to you about, if you'll permit me?"

"Of course," I said, wondering what made him sound so serious all of a sudden.

"You know that I'll be leaving within the week, don't you?" he asked, not sounding happy about it.

"You are?" I asked, not happy at the news either. "Why?"

"I've been assigned to the _Endeavor_," he replied. "To help Beckett with his witch hunt," he added after a moment. "He and Norrington are still convinced that there's to be some sort of gathering of the Brethren, and the _Endeavor_ is to lead the Company fleet in an effort to destroy them. It could put an end to piracy as we know it in the Caribbean."

"It sounds dangerous," I said, obviously concerned about him. I didn't give much thought to the pirates, as I thought any that I had ever known were dead or long since retired. "I wish you didn't have to."

"But I do," he said gently, " and I'll be back. "You'll see, it'll be fine." He glanced down at where I had tightened my grip on his hand dramatically.

"Madeline," he said again softly, "there's something else I wanted to say before I leave. I had hoped to do this in a bit more of a formal setting…"

I gave him a puzzled look, not understanding what he was getting at until he dropped to one knee on the sand in front of me, holding my hands in his. When realization dawned on me as to what was happening, I had all I could do not let my mouth fall open. There on the beach, at sunset, witnessed by only my horse, Jonathan Groves proposed to me, and I consented with great joy, to be his wife.

When he left later that week aboard the _Endeavor_, I was worried sick about him, and looking back now, I am thankful that I didn't know how close he came to dying that fateful day when Cutler Beckett met his demise when the _Endeavor_ was blown to smithereens by the _Flying Dutchman_ and the _Black Pearl_.

**A/N:** Amelia Groves dies from what would later be known as Multiple Sclerosis.

Onward to what happens post-AWE! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** FreedomOftheSeas and I were discussing our dream casts if we could have anyone we wanted to play our characters and in case you're curious, I completely picture Jason Isaacs as Charles Beckett.

**Chapter Four ~*~**

~o~

Not long after the _Battle of the Maelstrom_, as it came to be known, a messenger ship arrived at Port Royal one afternoon when I was working in my garden. I was surprised when I noticed Simpson, a man who I knew worked for the East India Trading Company and my neighbors, the Beckett brothers, heading determinedly for the little gate in the stone wall that surrounded my house.

"Doctor Gray!" Simpson called, sounding as if he were calling about something urgent. Usually when people called upon me in that tone of voice, it meant some sort of medical crisis, and I immediately stopped clipping roses and wiped my hands on my apron as I hurried to meet Simpson.

"What is it?" I asked, concerned at the look the man wore.

"Mr. Beckett has asked if you'd come straight away," he said, already doubling back toward my gate with a look that I should follow.

"Of course," I said, quickly following where he led. "Is he ill? Injured? What happened?" Charles Beckett was not my favorite person, but that didn't mean I wouldn't do any less to help him if needed me.

"It's his brother," Simpson replied gravely as we hurried across the grounds of the Beckett estate, which bordered my little property.

"Cutler?" I asked. "Did something happen to him?"

"He's dead," Simpson replied, giving me a grim look. "Mr. Beckett's beside himself, and he asked if you'd be the one to verify..."

"I understand," I said softly, hurrying along.

Port Royal, while being a fairly significant port in that part of the Caribbean, is not a very large place, and since all of its inhabitants pretty much know one another, at least by sight, it was not unheard of that I would be called upon to identify remains that a loved one just couldn't bring themselves to gaze upon. I understood that this might be the case with Charles, and I have to admit feeling a bit sorry for him.

Cutler Beckett is a name with which I am sure the reader is familiar, and I needn't spend much time describing the sort of man he was due to that fact. This is exactly one of those situations in which my dear mother would have strongly advocated that I keep my mouth shut if I didn't have anything pleasant to say, and I do, because I don't.

When Simpson led me into the study where Charles sat at his desk with his head in his hands, staring blankly at the mahogany surface in front of him without seeing it, it was one of the few times I had ever seen him look out of control. His shirt, which he wore without waistcoat or wig, was rumpled, and his face was ashen and drawn.

"Charles," I said quietly, and he looked up at me, appearing a bit dazed and lost and taking a minute to register that I'd spoken to him.

"Madeline," he breathed with what seemed to be a small amount of relief, and he stood and hurried to greet me, trying not to forget his manners even during his grief. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

Before I even had a chance to open my mouth to extend any form of condolence, he spoke again. "Would you do it immediately?" he asked me in a hoarse whisper.

"Of course," I said, as kindly as I could, and went with Simpson, who beckoned to me with a gesture, and led me down a hallway to another part of the great house.

I waited until we were out of earshot from Charles. "How did he die?" I asked, as he led me to where Cutler's remains had been brought.

"His ship was blown to hell," Simpson answered, "by pirates."

I stopped dead in my tracks, knowing that Jonathan had been assigned to the same ship as Beckett. "_The Endeavor_?" I asked, starting to panic.

"Yes," Simpson replied, giving me a curious look.

"And the officers?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

"Several went down with her, but I know most of them abandoned ship," Simpson replied matter of factly. "Why do you ask?"

"My fiancée was on board," I said, trying to hold back tears that were threatening. "Jonathan Groves?"

"Groves?" Simpson replied. "Oh, he's alright. Banged up a bit when he ordered the crew all overboard, but nothing that won't be right in a week or two, I'd imagine. He should be back in port in a day or three."

I let out the breath that I hadn't realized that I'd been holding, and said a little prayer of thanks.

The smell of charred flesh assaulted us when Simpson opened the door to the small room where Cutler had been placed, and despite the fact that I am quite accustomed to dealing with corpses, I braced myself for what I might find under the blanket that had been respectfully draped over him.

I will spare the details of just how awful Cutler Beckett's corpse looked and smelled, and I quickly went about verifying that it was him, as best I could discern, and immediately covered him back up. "Call for the undertaker," I said to Simpson as we closed the door behind us. "The body shouldn't remain in the house."

Simpson gave me a look that said he really wasn't keen on the idea of accompanying me back to deliver my news to Charles, and I waved him off and headed for the study once again.

Charles sat with his head in his hands again at his desk, and let them drop to it's surface as he raised his head to give me a tired, questioning look.

I nodded grimly. "Charles," I said softly, "I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do..."

"No. Thank you. You're very kind to have done this for me, Madeline. You know how much my brother meant to me," he said, sounding quite bereaved.

"I know," I said, wishing I had something more to add.

"If only he'd listened to me," Charles lamented, looking more distraught. "I told him to be patient, to wait a bit longer...ferret out the pirates little by little, but he had his grand scheme...it became too big for him to control, in the end..."

Charles broke off and looked like he might break down, and despite the fact that I did not always see eye to eye with the man, and that I had been fending off advances from him for several years, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and I went to stand next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault," I said, barely able to get the words out before he finally lost all composure and buried his face in his hands, sobbing silently as I stood by.

My heart went out to him in his distress, knowing that after losing his wife, Cornelia, a decade before, despite the fact that he'd never seemed terribly broken up about her demise, and losing his brother so recently, that he no longer had anyone that he could call family.

One of my greatest attributes, and also my most pronounced shortcomings, I have to admit, is the tendency I have to think the best of people, whether or not it appears they deserve it, and there would be more than one person over the years that I was pleasantly surprised to have put my faith in or given a second chance to.

I will say now, that Charles Beckett was not one of those people. Arrogant, powerful and egotistical, the older brother of Cutler ran a great deal of the expanding Caribbean empire that was the East India Trading Company, and was a ruthless, cunning businessman, determined to get whatever he wanted in life, and _usually _successful.

I emphasize _usually_, because since his wife's demise, years before, Charles had taken it upon himself to set his sights on obtaining my favor, for what reason I cannot completely explain. I had staunchly declined any invitation from him for as long as I could remember, but that hadn't stopped his periodic attempts at cultivating my affections, which I continued to be plagued by since until recently there'd been no other man with which I kept much company.

But I digress from the moment in Charles' study, where I was more concerned about trying to comfort the grieving man, as he appeared rather inconsolable as I stood there with my hand on his shoulder. He flung himself to his feet suddenly, sweeping a stack of parchment off his desk with an abrupt gesture that made me jump, and he began to pace agitatedly.

"What ever am I going to do, Madeline?" he asked, sounding sincerely distraught as he met my gaze with a look that pleaded for me to give him an answer that might make things better. He ran a hand back through his hair haphazardly, looking like he was about to break down in tears again. "It's my fault he's gone."

"Charles," I said, going to stand closer and place a hand on his arm, "you're being much too hard on yourself..." My statement was cut off as Charles suddenly grabbed me and started to fall apart again. I stood there feeling entirely ill at ease for a few moments, not knowing what to do, and finally, overcome with sympathy for the pitiful state of my neighbor, put my arm around him lightly and patted his back a bit awkwardly.

He only clung to me tighter, becoming more dramatic in his grief, and he buried his face against my shoulder, appearing to come completely undone.

I stood there with him for several long minutes, until at last he began to grow calmer, and I waited patiently for the point where I felt that I could let go.

He finally spoke, and when he did so, I did not care for the comment he made.

"God, you smell good, Madeline," he breathed, from where his face was near my neck.

"What?"

He straightened up, but didn't loosen his grasp and continued to speak in a whisper that I didn't care for in the least. "You smell good... and you _feel_ so good..." he said to me, starting to draw me in, even as quickly I let go.

"Charles," I began sternly, trying to back away, but unable to do so due to the fact that his arms were around me and his hands were running slowly up and down my back.

"Madeline," he said, his gaze going to my lips, "don't leave me alone...it's so terrible being alone." He started to slide one hand across the back of my neck, making me feel trapped. "Stay," he whispered. "Stay with me tonight." He leaned forward, holding me firmly where I was, and apparently intent on kissing me.

He frowned when he found my hand placed firmly between our lips.

"Now, Charles," I said, trying to muster my dignity and keep my anger under control, "you're just upset. You don't know what you're saying." I finally managed to disengage myself from his embrace and quickly slipped out of arms reach.

"Madeline," he said again, taking one step toward me.

"I'm due to be married," I said pointedly, and less able to keep my irritation at bay, "and I'd ask that you keep that firmly in mind."

I strode quickly to the door to take my leave. "Goodnight, Charles," I said, making one last attempt at being civil, "I'm very sorry about your brother."

The look he gave me before I escaped through the door was not a pleasant one by any means.

~o~

The day the _Enterprise,_ sister ship to the_ Endeavor,_ arrived in Port Royal, and word reached the hospital, I dropped what I was doing and bolted headlong down the hill, through town to the docks, hoping to get word of whether or not my fiancée was on board.

I nearly fainted with relief, ecstatic as I was to see him walking down the gangplank, limping slightly from a sprained ankle, but otherwise unharmed after narrowly escaping the ill-fated ship.

"Jonathan!" I cried, and not caring about what anybody thought, ran to him and threw my arms tightly about him, tears of relief and joy at seeing him in my eyes.

I learned from him part of what had taken place the day of the maelstrom, but of course he only knew bits and pieces of the story. What I learned was that James Norrington was dead, Davy Jones had been destroyed, and Cutler Beckett had been blown to Kingdom Come when the flagship of the Brethren Court, none other than the _Black Pearl_, had destroyed the _Endeavor_ along with help from the _Flying Dutchman_.

All of that meant little to me, as I had no idea how involved Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner, and Hector Barbossa were in the pirates' victory that day. The only thing that mattered was that Jonathan was safe, and that he had survived that awful battle.

Port Royal was in an uproar after that for several days, with Charles Beckett going on a rampage, distraught and furious over the death of his brother. He scattered the Company fleet all over the Caribbean, scouring the seas tirelessly for the _Black Pearl_ and even the _Flying Dutchman_.

Jonathan spoke little of what had happened at the maelstrom as it tended to upset him and remind him again of how very close he came to losing his life, and for a time he kept mostly to himself, trying to deal with the guilt he felt over the lives that had been lost because Cutler Beckett had not given the order to abandon ship, and Jonathan felt that he should have given it sooner. I knew it wasn't really his fault, but I also knew that I was going to have to give him some time to come to grips with the matter himself, and I gave him the space he needed.

What neither of us realized, and I wouldn't piece together for some time to come, was that ironically, it was the man to whom I'd pledged myself over ten years before, who was responsible, in a large part, for nearly killing the man to whom I was currently pledged.

~o~

It was a few weeks later, when I had had another incredibly busy day, and I'd been at the hospital assisting my younger colleague with a few of his patients until well after dinner. It was dark and overcast by the time I headed down the hill from the hospital, and I was glad to make it back to my little house not far from the Becketts' villa, as the wind had started to pick up a bit, and it seemed as though it were preparing to rain.

A faint roll of thunder sounded in the distance, confirming my suspicions that a storm was, in fact, on the way.

As tired as I was, I was in no mood for cooking anything for dinner, and I ate a bit of cheese, and bread, and a handful of grapes standing up in my small kitchen. I set the plate I used aside, poured myself a glass of wine, and took it into my bedroom with me, intending to get ready for bed and then read for a little while.

I didn't bother to take the time to light any of the other lamps in the room, and crossed in the dark to the nightstand by my bed, set the wine down, and lit the small lamp that resided there.

Standing between my bed and the dressing screen that was next to it, I pulled the pins out of my hair that held it twisted up at the back of my head, and let my hair tumble down, glad to relieve the pressure on my scalp that always came by the end of the day from wearing my hair up.

The lamp flickered a little with a breath of wind that had blown in the partially open window, and a new roll of thunder could be heard in the distance again.

I kicked off my shoes and began unlacing the back of my dress, finally finishing and stepping out of it to drape it over the top of the screen next to me. Likewise, I pulled the chemise I wore underneath off over my head, tossing it up over the dress, and I stretched languidly, glad to be rid of all the restricting garments, and then reached for my dressing gown.

It was at that precise moment that someone spoke from across the room.

"Evenin', Madeline."

It didn't matter that it had been over eleven years, and it wouldn't have mattered if it had been a hundred, I would have known that voice anywhere, and I knew instantly, even as the small cry of alarm escaped my lips, and I crushed the dressing gown over the front of me, that it belonged to Hector Barbossa.

I could see when I whirled about, that he was sitting in the darkness, in a chair across the room, face hidden in the shadow of the hat that perched on his head, and I could tell from just the two words he had spoken softly that he was somewhat amused.

The shock of seeing him alive took a moment to wear off, and when it did and I stopped gaping at him, I became more painfully aware that I was standing there wearing nothing but the dressing gown I had hastily covered the front of myself with.

At a loss for words, and still shocked at seeing him, I took a step back even as I stammered at him. "W-what are you doing here?" I demanded unsteadily.

"Evidently watchin' you be parted from yer dress," he said from the shadows. I couldn't see his expression, but the wry tone he used told me he wore a grin of the same sort, and I have to say that I wasn't nearly as amused as he was.

"You nearly scared me to death!" I scolded him. "How did you get in here?"

He stood at that moment, and walked slowly across the room in my direction. "Window," was all he said, as he came closer. "Yeh ought to be more careful about leavin' 'em open like that."

He stood only a few feet away at that point, and in the light cast across his face from the lamp on my nightstand, I could see him looking me over in an amused way. Panicking a little at that point, I stepped behind my privacy screen to fling on my dressing gown and tie it securely, after ordering him to stay where he was.

When I stepped back out to face him, he did the very thing I should have expected, after getting to know him so well, all those years ago, but time had made me forget just how wicked he could be, and I wasn't prepared for his comment.

"I see I was right," he said softly.

"About what?" I asked, feeling a lot of things that I couldn't sort out all at once.

He took another step closer, and I could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "About yer scar not marrin' the view."

I unconsciously started to reach for the old injury, along the back of my left thigh, and realized that he must have noticed it while I'd been undressing and had my back turned to him. I also realized that as I thought I'd been alone in the privacy of my own bedroom, that I'd peeled my clothes off thoughtlessly, and he'd probably seen a whole lot more of the back of me than my scar.

"How long were you sitting there?" I asked suspiciously.

"Long enough to see that not much has changed in ten years," he said, paying me an offhanded compliment in his charming, roguish way.

My emotions were still in turmoil, but the one that came to the forefront at that moment was anger and I snapped at him a little when I replied. "It's been over eleven," I said acidly, " and a lot of things have changed in that time."

Not one to be easily put off, he didn't let up. "Well, yer backside isn't one of them," he said, causing me to give him an exasperated look. "As fer the front..." he said, smiling at the way I was clutching my dressing gown closed, "ye covered up too quick fer me to tell."

I gave another exasperated sigh, as I fought with the conflicting feelings I was experiencing. First and foremost, I was glad beyond words that he was alive, but second was the feeling that I wanted to kill him for abandoning me for all those years. I knew just enough of his story from Elizabeth to know that it hadn't been entirely his fault, but that still didn't change the fact that he'd left me...alone.

"Well?" he asked me, interrupting my thoughts.

"Well, what?" I asked back, feeling a little trapped by him at that moment between my nightstand and my changing screen.

"Are yeh glad to see me?" he asked.

Someone else might not have caught it, but I did – the tiniest hint of concern in an otherwise carelessly asked question. He was worried after all this time that my answer might be no.

"Of course," I said softly, knowing that I meant it.

"Good," he said, sounding a bit relieved. "I was worried that ye might hate me after all these years."

"I've had my moments," I said quietly, surprising myself at the bitterness in my voice. He said nothing and I realized he was waiting for me to say more. "I know about the curse," I said hesitantly.

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. "Ah," was all he said, but there was something else in his expression that appeared perhaps a bit wary. "So, ye know of the curse?" he asked, turning his back and walking a few steps away.

"Only what I've been told by Elizabeth Swann," I said gently.

"Then ye must know that it was the only reason that I never..." He paused with a sigh, and I knew that I could hear anger and frustration gathering in his voice. "Actually, it be one of two reasons I never returned," he growled.

The irritation I had been feeling was being replaced by sympathy, and indeed something stronger that lingered under the surface. I went to him and touched his hand, causing him to flinch before he looked at me. "What was the second reason?" I asked, my fingers resting lightly against his.

He didn't reach for my hand, neither did he pull away, and the look in his eyes bespoke a fraction of the torment he'd been through for so long. "I was dead," he said coldly, and then he withdrew his hand and stepped away from me again.

~o~

**A/N:** I posted this chapter a little quicker than I normally do, but I thought the best way to start off the new year would be with Barbossa's return! ;)

Happy New Year to all!

Cheers!


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to BoogaBooga and Review Kunoichi for leaving such nice reviews since I couldn't reply directly!

**Chapter Five ~*~**

~o~

_"Then ye must know that it was the only reason that I never..." He paused with a sigh, and I knew that I could hear anger and frustration in his voice. "Actually, it be one of two reasons I never returned," he growled._

_The irritation I had been feeling was being replaced by sympathy, and indeed something stronger that lingered under the surface. I went to him and touched his hand, causing him to flinch before he looked at me. "What was the second reason?" I asked, my fingers resting lightly against his._

_He didn't reach for my hand, neither did he pull away, and the look in his eyes bespoke a fraction of the torment he'd been through for so long. "I was dead," he said coldly, and then he withdrew his hand and stepped away from me again._

~o~

Of course, it isn't every day that someone tells you in person that they've been dead for a fair amount of time, and Barbossa's statement puzzled me for obvious reasons, despite what Elizabeth had told me months earlier about having seen him shot.

After seeing him standing in my bedroom, I started to assume that Elizabeth had been mistaken, and that somehow he'd survived the wound. Perhaps it wasn't as serious as she'd thought, and he'd only been unconscious when he'd been left behind.

When he stated so bitterly that he'd been dead, I was still trying to convince myself that somehow he was speaking in figurative terms, and not literal ones, but a sense of dread was creeping up on me that I couldn't ignore.

"Dead?" I asked him, where he still stood in the darker part of the room with his back to me. I swallowed hard. "How do you mean?"

He turned his head and stared at me from the shadows. "Be there more'n one way to be dead, _Doctor_?" His tone was sarcastic and bitter, with none of the dry humor that I might have initially expected to hear.

"No," I said quietly, not really knowing how else to answer his question. I frowned at how convinced he sounded.

"You can't really mean _dead_," I said, trying to come up with a medically plausible reason for his statement. "Perhaps some sort of coma after your injury, or stupor after a lot of blood loss…"

He whirled on me and crossed the short distance in a couple of steps, grabbing me roughly by the arms and shouting at me from where he held me.

"I said _dead_!" he snarled at me. "By the Powers, woman, are ye deaf? Do you not understand what it means to be a lifeless corpse?"

The frustration and anger that blazed in his eyes as he yelled scared me, and I fought to remain calm, telling myself repeatedly as I met his eyes, that he would never really do anything to hurt me. I watched him struggle to marshal his anger back under control, and he snarled once more in wordless frustration, and yanked his hands away to curl them into fists clenched at his sides.

I waited a moment, until I thought I could speak without my voice trembling, and I put a hand lightly on his arm. "Will you tell me what happened?" I asked him, gently.

"What does it matter?" he asked bitterly, turning his head away.

If I had ever thought that I had experienced a lot of hurt over the years, it was becoming apparent very quickly that what those years had done to Barbossa was far, far worse. My feelings for him had never entirely faded, and my heart went out to him at that moment when I could see how much pain he must have been in.

While it might have been a foolish thing for me to try to reason with an angry and dangerous pirate, I knew that one of the best things I could do for him would be to place a measure of trust in him, and I took a step closer.

He didn't move away, but he still didn't look at me.

"Hector," I said softly, trying to get him to listen. I reached up and laid my fingers against his scarred cheek, applying just enough pressure to get him to turn back to look at me. His eyes met mine, and I could tell he was struggling with a lot of emotion, although exactly of what nature I knew not.

I started to move my hand away, but he suddenly caught up my fingers, and slowly laid them back against his cheek, holding them there gently, and closing his eyes. We stood there for a long while in silence until he let go a small shuddering sigh and spoke in barely more than a whisper. "Yer hand's so warm," was all he said, finally letting go of my fingers.

It was a few seconds after I gently removed my hand that he opened his eyes and looked at me, and I could tell he still struggled with something.

"How did you get here?" I asked, trying to change the subject and lighten the moment just a little. I began walking away, but beckoned to him to follow me and I led him to the kitchen. "Sit," I said, indicating the small table and chairs, and he complied with my order, and tossed his hat on the table.

"Ship," he said simply, looking tired at that point. In the better lighting of the kitchen I could see that his face had more lines and appeared more weathered than last I'd seen him, and a fair amount of gray now ran through his long hair. "_The Black_ _Pearl_," he added as an afterthought.

I poured him a measure of rum and set in on the table in front of him. "Are you hungry?" I asked, and watched him nod and then toss back what I had poured. I set the remainder of the bottle Elizabeth and I had once opened on the table next to him, and went to fetch some food.

"Thankee, May," he said, when I'd set the plate of food down, and sat in the chair next to him, thinking how strange it was to be sitting in my own kitchen with a pirate.

I waited for a few minutes while he ate before speaking again. "It's probably not safe for you to have come to Port Royal," I said.

"Nay, it's not," he said, taking another bite of bread, "but I had to know if it be true."

"If what was true?" I asked, not understanding.

"Elizabeth told me ye yet waited for me all these years," he said softly, watching me a bit warily. "Said she thought ye to still...care."

"That conversation was supposed to be kept private," I said, just a tad annoyed with Elizabeth, "and just how is it that you would have spoken with her, anyway?"

"Long story," he said, mouth full, and he swallowed before continuing. "To make it short, I met up with her and young Master Turner on Pelagosto, some short while after I...well...came back," he said, a tiny smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

"Where are they, now?" I asked, as he continued to eat.

"That be an even longer story," he replied, taking another swig of rum. "I'll tell it to ye when we have more time, but to bring you up to speed...Davy Jones is dead and young Will Turner now captains the _Flying Dutchman_."

"Will? The captain of the _Flying Dutchman_? I thought the _Flying Dutchman_ was an old wives tale?" I asked.

"Aye, about as much of an old wives tale as cursed Aztec gold," he said softly, between bites.

"I get your meaning," I said.

"Speakin' of gold," he said, sitting back in the chair and draping his elbow over the back. "Ye got what I sent?"

"Did you see the hospital?" I asked as an answer.

"Nay, but I'd like to," he said, tossing back the last of the rum in his mug.

"Really?" I asked.

"Aye," he replied, setting the empty cup on the table, and standing up.

"Now?" I asked, thinking how late it was.

"Ye can't expect me to go walkin' in during broad daylight, can ye?" he asked, giving me a wink.

"Alright," I said, standing and heading for the bedroom, "just let me get dressed."

I tossed some clothes on the bed with the intent of then putting them on, and had just reached for the tie to my dressing gown when it occurred to me that I wasn't alone. I looked over my shoulder and found him leaning against the doorway casually, arms folded across his chest.

I huffed in exasperation at him, and he smiled to himself as I dragged my clothes with me behind the privacy screen. Trying to fill the silence while I pulled on my riding breeches and a shirt, I called back across the room from where I got dressed.

"You'd probably be interested in the fact that I managed to commandeer the prime spot on the bluff near the fort," I said to him. "Bought it right out from Charles Beckett's nose, and he was none too happy about it."

"Serves the bastard right," Barbossa said, surprising me that he spoke just from the other side of the screen and not from across the room.

"I told him Cornelia fell overboard," I said, buttoning up the shirt I had donned. "It might have taken him three weeks before he started keeping the company of other women."

"Huh," Barbossa snorted from nearby. "Ye know his brother's dead?"

"Cutler? Yes, I know," I said from behind the screen. "His ship was destroyed by...pirates." It suddenly occurred to me that Barbossa must have been responsible, as I'd heard tell of the _Black Pearl_ being the cause. "You?" I asked, hesitating behind the screen.

"Aye, in part," he replied. "Sparrow and the Turners too."

"The _Turners_?" I asked, finishing with the last buttons.

"Aye," he replied, sounding a bit amused. "Yer friend Elizabeth asked me to marry her to Turner aboard the _Pearl_."

"She asked you...ah. I thought that only applied to naval captains?" I replied.

"Of course not," he replied, just a tad indignantly, "especially if it be pirates yer marryin'."

"Pirates? I'd hardly consider Elizabeth and Will pirates, Hector," I said, wondering if he was teasing me.

"Ye don't seem the type yerself," he said simply, and I frowned as I took his meaning. After sailing on the _Rogue Wave_, dining with Pirate Lords in Tortuga, spending pirate gold, and shooting a naval officer, one might be able to argue that I had been well on the way to being a pirate years before.

"Not only is Elizabeth Turner a pirate," he went on, "but King of the Brethren Court."

"King?" I asked, stepping out from behind the screen.

"A story fer another time, as I don't have much," he replied once more.

He looked me up and down as I stepped back into the room, shrugging on a red riding coat after I'd pulled on boots. He scowled and reached out to pluck at my sleeve. "I come all the way from... Pelegosto to see you, and this be what ye wear fer me?" he asked, giving my clothes a disapproving look, but dry humor present in his voice.

His tone left no doubt that he'd been saying he'd come from farther than Pelegosto island, and that he'd have preferred me to be in a dress.

"I didn't know that there was anything in particular I should wear," I said, unable to keep from smiling as I gathered my hair back and started to braid it behind my head, "and I am not lacing myself back into a dress tonight."

"_Nothin_' in particular, would've been fine," he said, reaching out and taking hold of one of my hands for a brief instant. "Leave it," he said softly, meaning my hair, and I let it fall back loose as he asked.

"Better," he said, reaching out and gathering up a handful of my tresses as he took a step closer to me, and then let my hair slip through his fingers slowly. "Yeh remember the last time ye stepped from behind a screen for me?" he asked softly, and I felt my heart speed up a little. The last time I was wearing considerably less than I had on at that moment, and it had been the one night I'd ended up in his bed.

"I remember," I replied, gently pulling away and stepping past him. Being that close to him was rapidly rekindling an old fire, even after having only had him back in my life for an hour, and I knew that to be a dangerous thing.

He followed me back to the kitchen, grabbing up his hat on the way by the table where he'd left it, and perching it atop his head. I could see it still had a small hole in the rear over his left shoulder from the bullet that had torn through it.

We walked up the hill together in the light drizzle that remained after the thunder had passed, and I found it odd to think that if anyone at the fort just across the way knew who my midnight companion was, we'd both be in a lot of trouble. Of course, no one expects a notorious pirate to just saunter into their back yard, least of all the King's navy.

If anyone _had_ paid any attention to us, the sight of me accompanying someone to the hospital late at night was not actually an unheard of thing, and it would have been likely regarded as a medical emergency.

I think he liked the tidy little hospital I had built, and I spent a few moments giving him the tour of the exam rooms, wards, pharmacy and surgery. "We have patients that come from all over Jamaica, now," I explained, "and occasionally other islands as well."

"We?" he asked, picking up a skull that sat on the bookcase in the small library we stood in, giving it a distasteful look and setting it back in its place.

"I have two other doctors, now," I replied proudly.

"Women?" he asked, looking through the titles that sat on the shelf.

"One of them," I replied with a smile as he turned back around.

"Well, I'm impressed, Doctor Gray," he said, sweeping a hand at the room around us, "but I'd have expected nothin' less. 'Tis a fine thing ye've accomplished after all."

He seemed quite sincere, and it pleased me that he, of all people, was impressed with what I'd done. "I have something else I'd like to show you," I said, dousing lamps as I went, and heading for the door.

Barbossa looked intrigued, and followed me where I lead him back down the hill to the small stable near Brown's blacksmith shop. I lit the lantern at the entrance, and then took another with me and led him to the stall I kept my horse in.

He looked the animal over appraisingly and ran a hand gently over the horse's face, and I was reminded suddenly of how little I knew about the man I was with. It never occurred to me that the infamous pirate might have been comfortable around horses, and I resolved to ask him about it at some point if I had the chance.

"This be a handsome piece of horseflesh," he said quietly, stroking the great head slowly. "Yers?"

I nodded, pleased that he seemed to like my horse. "We spend a lot of time together, he and I," I said, placing my own hand on the horse's neck.

"What be this fine lad's name?" Barbossa asked.

It hadn't occurred to me that he would ask. "Rogue," I said quietly.

His eyes met mine and he gave me a wry grin. "A fittin' name fer a horse bought with stolen pirate treasure." He stroked Rogue's face for a moment longer and then spoke to me again. "Did yeh name 'im after me ship?"

I nodded wordlessly, unable to trust my voice not to give away the white lie. It had in fact, been the ship's master that I'd had in mind when I'd named my ornery horse of Portuguese descent. Nevertheless, my answer still seemed to amuse Barbossa.

"Madeline, I need to go," he said at last, disappointment edging into his voice. "Ye know it's not safe fer me to stay long," he continued.

"I know," I replied, the same emotion evident in my own voice. "Will I see you again?"

He shrugged silently, and then said, "You could come with me."

I didn't know what to say. It wasn't that I didn't want to spend time with him, but going with him implied leaving the life I'd made for myself behind, and of course there was the tiny matter of me being engaged to Jonathan. I stared at Barbossa where he watched me carefully as I struggled for a way to tell him that I'd pledged myself to someone else.

"Hector," I began unsteadily, dealing with a great swell of emotion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm me, "I...I can't."

"I'm not askin' yeh to decide this moment," he continued, " and I can well imagine that ye'd not want to go."

I know that I became quite flustered, and I started to say something three or four times, trying to find a way to explain that I just hadn't had enough time to even get used to the idea that he was actually alive, and I knew the news I was about to deliver was going to disappoint us both.

I turned away, unable to bear looking at him when I spoke. "I'm due to be married," I said softly, struggling even with that short statement.

"In a month," he said evenly, not sounding surprised at all, and I spun back around to face him. "To a navy lieutenant," he continued, matter-of-factly.

"A pirate hunter," he finished, after a pause, and I could hear the sarcasm and disapproval slipping into his voice, "of all things."

I started to get irritated. "He's a good man, Hector. You can't ask me to disregard the promise I made him."

"And what of the promise ye made to me?" he asked, anger coloring his words also.

"I waited for you for nearly twelve years!" I snapped. "I would have gotten married after two if it weren't for the bloody flowers you sent me! I kept thinking if I just waited a little longer...but you never even sent word...I didn't know what had become of you..."

I finally began to cry but continued on despite my tears. "Why didn't you ever tell me what happened?"

The look of anger and frustration and perhaps even hate that crossed his face began to scare me as he crossed the few steps between us and grabbed me by the arm, his gaze boring into mine. "You never got the letters I sent you?" he snarled, and I could feel his own arm trembling a bit with rage.

"What letters?" I asked, still crying and wincing at the fierce grip he held my arm with. "I only got the letter that came with the gold."

Seeing him as angry as he was scared me a bit, but I knew it wasn't me he was furious with as he let go of me and turned away again. "Lilith," he said in a snarled whisper, "she never..."

The implications of his words sank in, and I realized that we both had been betrayed by the woman he'd named.

"Did you send many?" I asked, speaking softly to his back.

"Aye," he said, sounding tired again, "three...maybe four a year. Every failure...every victory...every coin that we reclaimed...I sent you the cursed tally every letter so ye'd know..."he broke off, unable to continue.

"It matters not," he finally whispered, "anymore. In the end ye knew I be dead, and I'll not blame you fer movin' on."

I didn't know what to say as he turned back toward me. "'Tis time fer me to leave," he said softly, stepping very close again. "I'll not trouble you again, Madeline."

I realized at that moment that it was likely to be the last I'd ever see of him, and I grabbed his hand, despite the fact that I couldn't actually get any words out. A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he reached up and ran the back of his fingers along my cheek.

"Twelve years, and here ye be, even lovelier than in all me cursed dreams," he whispered as I closed my eyes, and the kiss I knew would follow was against my forehead instead of my lips, and then he was gone.

I opened my eyes and stared after where he had departed, long moments after he'd left, and my thoughts were interrupted by Rogue nickering at me softly and nudging my arm. I gave him another affectionate pat, and the lump of sugar he wanted out of my pocket, and then threw my arms around his great neck and cried until I couldn't anymore with my face buried against his soft coat. Exhausted, I finally blew out the lanterns and headed for home.

When I got close to my house, I knew things were never going to be the same the moment I saw the handful of men standing outside my home, and the white horse that was tethered outside my front door. That horse, I knew, belonged to my neighbor, and if the horse was there then so was Charles Beckett.

I let myself in the back door and found him standing in my kitchen, after having the audacity to enter my home while I was absent, contemplating the plate, and cup and empty bottle of rum on the table...


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thank you all for the wonderful response to this little sequel so far, and thank you to FreedomOftheSeas for her help beta-ing another chapter.

Infamous Hat Poll Update: 8 no, 65 yes!

**Chapter Six ~*~**

**~o~**

_"Twelve years, and here ye be, even lovelier than in all me cursed dreams," he whispered as I closed my eyes, and the kiss I knew would follow was against my forehead instead of my lips, and then he was gone._

_I opened my eyes and stared after where he had departed, long moments after he'd left, and my thoughts were interrupted by Rogue nickering at me softly and nudging my arm. I gave him another affectionate pat, and the lump of sugar he wanted out of my pocket, and then threw my arms around his great neck and cried until I couldn't anymore with my face buried against his soft coat. Exhausted, I finally blew out the lanterns and headed for home._

_When I got close to my house, I knew things were never going to be the same the moment I saw the handful of men standing outside my home, and the white horse that was tethered outside my front door. That horse, I knew, belonged to my neighbor, and if the horse was there then so was Charles Beckett._

_I let myself in the back door and found him standing in my kitchen, after having the audacity to enter my home while I was absent, contemplating the plate, and cup and empty bottle of rum on the table..._

~o~

"Charles," I addressed him, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, "to what do I owe the pleasure so late this evening?"

He put the bottle he had picked up back on the table and turned. "Ah, Doctor Gray," he said evenly, "there you are. I was concerned that perhaps something had happened to you, so I took the liberty of stopping in."

He walked a step or two closer, casually. "I do hope you'll forgive my intrusion in my eagerness to verify your well being."

"Of course," I replied as politely as I could, "and as you can see I am perfectly well."

"So it would seem," he said coolly, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down uninvited. "May I inquire as to your whereabouts this evening, Doctor?"

"I was out at the hospital with a patient," I said in reply. "May I offer you something?" I asked, hoping I sounded unconcerned and casual. "Sherry?"

"Seeing as how you are out of rum," Beckett said, eying the bottle on the table suspiciously, "that would be lovely, thank you." I brought back two glasses of sherry and handed one to him, seating myself in the chair Barbossa had so recently sat in and taking a sip from my drink.

"May I ask," Charles began, after a sip from his own glass, "do you always tend your patients in your riding clothes?"

"Of course," I said, and gave a light little laugh. "You know that if I'm not at work I'm with my horse." I knew he was aware of that fact, as he'd coveted my Lusitano stallion for some time, and had offered repeatedly to buy him from me. I'd refused but let him ride Rogue once or twice on the rare occasion that I had accepted an invitation to go riding with my neighbors, the Beckett brothers.

Charles sipped his sherry again and then nodded in the direction of the plate. "Entertaining tonight, were you?"

"Hardly," I said with a tired –sounding sigh. "I ate quite late and then got called away to the hospital again.

"Well, I must say that I am quite relieved to see you safely at home," he said.

"I get called out at night all the time," I replied, "but thank you for being concerned."

"I would have been less concerned if your temporary disappearance hadn't occurred the very night one of my men spotted a dangerous pirate not far from here," he said. I knew the concern in his voice to be contrived.

"A pirate? In Port Royal?" I asked, trying to sound mildly surprised.

"Yes," he replied, still watching me carefully. "I believe an old acquaintance of yours, Madeline...a certain Captain Barbossa."

"Barbossa?" I asked, trying to look as if the name were distasteful. "What is he doing here?"

"I should like to ask the same question of you," he said, looking at me pointedly.

"I quite sure I wouldn't begin to know," I replied, taking a much needed sip of sherry. I was beginning to wish I wasn't out of rum.

"Curious," Beckett said.

"What is?" I asked, still doing my best to sound casual.

"The fact that the one place Barbossa was spotted near was your house," Charles replied while contemplating the depths of the sherry in his glass. " Why is it, do you think, that the one person he might seek out would be the doctor he'd kidnapped nearly twelve years ago?"

"I have no idea," I said in a hoarse whisper, hoping he would interpret the fact that I was becoming alarmed as anxiety that Barbossa might have come looking for me.

"Oh, there, now I've upset you," he said, putting his glass down and sitting forward in his chair.

"It's just that...well...Barbossa is a dangerous man," I replied unsteadily.

"So my dear wife found out," he said. "I've always found it interesting that you were the only one that managed to survive your..._ordeal_, Madeline."

"I was extremely lucky to do so," I said in reply. "You've no idea what I went through to stay on Barbossa's good side." I knew he understood what I was implying.

"Hmm, yes," he said, pausing for a moment and then standing. "Well, put your mind at ease, Madeline. My men will be watching your house carefully while we search for him."

"Search?" I asked. "You make it sound as if you think he's still around."

"The _Black Pearl_ was spotted not far from Jamaica a day and a half ago," Charles said. "She's likely to be nearby if Barbossa is here, and it is my intention to capture them both."

"Well, good luck doing so," I said, not meaning it the way he would think.

"Thank you," he replied, heading for the door. "Remember that I'm just a stone's throw away if you should have any more concerns about pirates, Madeline." He gave me what might have passed for a pleasant smile on anyone else, and left, shutting the door behind him.

I could see him ride off from my bedroom window, and his men followed, heading in the direction of the Becketts' villa. I waited a few minutes longer, after they'd ridden out of sight, and hurried to the door.

I knew that Barbossa wouldn't have had time to make it all the way to the cove he'd spoken of on foot, and I needed to warn him that he'd been found out. I was sure Beckett would have alerted the fort by then, and knew the _Black Pearl_, if she still lay at anchor anywhere nearby, would be in great danger as well.

Knowing I'd never catch Barbossa on foot at that point, I ran back to the stable and threw a bridle on Rogue, mounting him hurriedly without bothering with a saddle. I would have ridden him out of the stable that second, if it weren't for the fact that Beckett's henchman, Simpson, stepped into the barn and blocked my exit.

"Where might you be off to in such a hurry?" he asked with an unpleasant look on his face.

"None of your business," I spat back. "Get out of my way."

"I'm making it my business," he said, and he pulled out a pistol and pointed it at me from the door. "Get off the horse."

I'm sure I reacted before I could really think about what I was doing, and I hauled back on Rogue, causing him to squeal at me in protest and rear up on his hind legs. Simpson reacted by ducking to one side to avoid Rogue's flailing front feet, and I dug my heels into the stallion's sides even as his hooves met the ground again.

We all but ran down Simpson, who had to throw himself out of the way, and Rogue's hooves clattered along the cobblestones of Port Royal, as we raced through the dark streets and up the long hill.

Rogue and I quickly picked our way to the path that led along the top of the bluff. I knew it ran west for some miles before eventually descending down lower and lower cliffs until the terrain leveled off and the path led out onto the beach we'd talked about earlier.

Not wanting to lose the precious small margin I had over any pursuers, I risked trotting Rogue along the dark path, and a couple of miles later, about half way to the cove, Barbossa stepped out onto the path from where he'd obviously taken cover in the bushes until he saw who the rider was that approached.

"Madeline, what?"

"Beckett's looking for you…he knows you came to see me," I said, after reigning Rogue in.

"Merda!" Barbossa swore quietly.

"I have a head start, but probably only a few minutes," I explained. "One of his men tried to stop me and I ran him down."

"Yer in danger yerself then," he said. "I've put ye in jeopardy by..."

"I put myself in jeopardy," I said, as Rogue danced impatiently around in a circle, and we came about once more to face Barbossa. "It's time to go."

He nodded once, and reached up to take the hand I offered, pulling himself up and behind me on Rogue. I nudged the stallion forward and risked a trot again, hoping to keep some distance ahead of Beckett's men, who I knew must be following by that point.

It became apparent all too soon that hoof beats and voices could be heard back the way I had come from, and I urged Rogue forward into a canter, risking the dark path at a faster pace. Too much was at stake not to take the risk, and I knew I was going to have to trust my long time companion's better night vision to help keep us out of trouble.

The first sign that we were in trouble was the sound of the bullet that ricocheted off a rock next to us, and I again urged Rogue to a faster pace. Running along at suicidal speed with periodic gunshots ringing out behind us, it still was evident that we were losing ground, as Rogue carried two of us, and the horses pursuing only each carried one rider.

We both knew that the beach was too far away for us to make it, and even if we did we'd be sitting ducks out in the open. "Where's the _Pearl_?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Beyond the point with the trees," Barbossa said from behind me. "We'll not make it around the cove in time!"

"No, we'll have to cut across!" I cried back to him.

"Cut across?" he asked incredulously. "That would mean risking the water, and yeh can't swim!"

"Who says?" I asked, ducking involuntarily at the next gunshot that hit a tree not far behind.

"Ye did!" he replied.

"I lied!" I said, glancing over my shoulder at where I could see the pursuing horses closing on the path behind us. "Hang on tight, we're headed hard to port!"

"Hard to port?" He knew what I had in mind when he felt my weight shift and I gathered Rogue for the jump, and he held on firmly to me, shifting his weight the same way I did.

We'd been running along the lower cliffs that would soon taper off to the beach, but I knew we couldn't risk the extra time to make it to the water that way, and I asked something of my horse that I had never asked of him before.

Thankfully, after riding together for so many hours and so many years, Rogue trusted me and did what I asked of him, and I could feel his muscles tense as he gathered himself and sprang, straight over the edge of the cliff toward open air and the water of the cove, two stories below.

The impact was tremendous, and all three of us plunged under the cold water. I did my best to hang onto Rogue's reins, even as I kicked for the surface, and I looked around me for Barbossa, finding only his hat floating nearby. Rogue thrashed to the surface with a grunt and a snort, and let go a series of unhappy squeals even as his legs began to churn and he headed for the opposite shore. He hadn't expected that the other side of the jump I'd asked of him would be twenty feet below.

Barbossa broke the surface a second later, only a few feet from us, and sputtered for a minute, looking fairly unhappy about being flung off the cliff with Rogue and myself. "Are ye tryin' to kill me again?" he asked, reaching out for his bedraggled hat. He placed it back on his head with as much dignity as he could muster, given the circumstances.

"No, but let's go before they do," I said, indicating where half a dozen horsemen had pulled up at the top of the cliff and were dismounting to shoot at us.

We swam for all we were worth, finally making it to the opposite shore of the cove, and Rogue got out and shook himself repeatedly, showering the sand with water. I managed to crawl out of the water on my hands and knees, collapsing breathless on the shore, even as Barbossa had made it to his feet.

"Come," he said, reaching a hand down to me and out of breath from the exertion of the swim himself. "We still need to get to the _Pearl_."

I let him pull me to my feet, and I staggered after him, catching up Rogue's bridle to lead him with us, until Barbossa turned back. "Yer gonna have to leave 'im," he said gently.

"Leave him?" I asked incredulously. "He just saved our lives!"

"Aye, that he did," Barbossa replied, "but we've no way to get him on the ship, and Beckett's men'll be here quickly." He pointed past the twin trees we were standing near to the shadow of the black ship, anchored a short distance beyond the point.

Rogue nudged me and snorted, wanting me to make up my mind about what we were doing. I knew I had no time, and I pressed my face against his, holding onto him for a moment, as tears began to stream down my face.

"I love you, my handsome Rogue," I whispered, and then I let him go and turned him loose, knowing that he was likely to end up in the hands of the very man he'd helped us escape from.

We didn't have time to signal for a boat from the _Pearl_, and after hurriedly crossing the small point of sand, I found myself swimming for all I was worth again, toward the ship that waited offshore. Barbossa made it first, and climbed up the ladder, and I felt a sense of déjà vu as I found myself once again climbing up the side of a pirate ship, this time dripping wet, but not, at least, in a dress.

"Master Gibbs," he called, even as he offered me his hand to help me step onto the deck, "weigh anchor, hoist whatever ye can throw on by yesterday, and get us the bloody hell out of here!"

Gibbs, a seasoned-looking old salt with graying hair and beard, only hesitated long enough to spare a glance for his wet captain and another for me as I stood dripping on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, and he jumped to follow orders. "Look lively men! Cap'n's on board!"

If he thought it odd to have Barbossa climb back aboard the _Pearl_ with a woman in tow, he said nothing to that effect, and began directing the crew to make sure we got under way quickly.

~o~


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven ~*~**

~o~

_Gibbs, a seasoned-looking old salt with graying hair and beard, only hesitated long enough to spare a glance for his wet captain and another for me as I stood dripping on the deck of the Black Pearl, and he jumped to follow orders. "Look lively men! Cap'n's on board!"_

_If he thought it odd to have Barbossa climb back aboard the Pearl with a woman in tow, he said nothing to that effect, and began directing the crew to make sure we got under way quickly._

_~o~_

I was wet, I was cold and I was exhausted, and I stood upon the deck of the infamous black ship that I had only ever seen once, many months before, surrounded by heavy mist in the harbor of Port Royal while she ravaged my home.

Running from the East India Trading Company with a pirate and swimming half a mile at midnight were not what I had originally planned for my evening, and I thought longingly of the book and glass of wine that remained on my nightstand at home, untouched. I slicked my wet hair back out of my face with both hands, and hurried across the deck of the _Black Pearl_ after Barbossa, half aware of the multitude of stares from the crew that were probably wondering just where I'd come from, and what a woman was doing aboard their ship.

Barbossa said something briefly to a pair of pirates nearby, and then glanced at me once to make sure I followed as he yanked open one of the great double doors that led to the main cabin. As with the _Rogue Wave_, the cabin housed a collection of furniture and other items that appeared to have been collected from many journeys, but it was the smell of fresh varnish that I noticed most upon entering.

"It smells like paint," I said, as Barbossa pulled the door shut and strode past me to start ridding himself of wet weapons.

"Aye," he said, placing his dagger, gun, sword and another knife from his boot on the table alongside his bedraggled hat, "from the repairs done in Tortuga."

"Repairs?" I asked, glancing around the cabin as I began to shiver from being wet.

"After what the _Flying Dutchman_ did to her," Barbossa replied caustically. He stripped off his coat after lighting several lanterns and hung it up to dry and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

"There's a lot that I've missed, isn't there?" I asked, my poor head spinning after everything I'd just been through.

He sounded tired at that point. "That there be, lass. I'll tell ye everythin' over breakfast, but fer now, we'd best get you out of those wet clothes."

I'd known him too well in the past to think that his comment was entirely innocent, and I shot him an exasperated look, earning myself a small but mischievous smile. Apparently the fact that I was due to be married shortly wasn't deterring him from his customary wicked insinuations.

He stripped his own soaked shirt off over his head and was about to reach for his boots when he heard the sharp intake of breath from me and glanced in my direction again.

When he'd discarded his shirt, he'd been standing close enough to one of the lanterns that I'd seen the scar he hadn't previously carried, just off the center of his chest, and even though I'd been informed in no uncertain terms that he'd received a fatal wound, actually seeing the scar drove the point home for me.

He stood unmoving as I crossed the few steps between us and placed my fingers against his skin, tracing the small defect gently, and likewise held still as my inner clinician took over and probed the area more firmly, finding that the small tract of scar tissue ran deep, and in fact there was a small piece of sternum that had been chipped off the left side.

"No one could have survived this wound," I said quietly, more for my benefit than his, as he was certainly painfully away of that fact. I suddenly became aware of how close I was standing to him with my fingers on his chest, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

"Sparrow always was a decent shot," he said wryly, trying to lighten the awkwardness of the moment with dark humor. "Not that he could have missed at that distance, mind ye," he added, crossing the room to a cabinet, and withdrawing dry clothes.

"Turn about," he said with a smirk, "I'll not have ye compromisin' me honor by standin' there gawkin' while I'm indecent."

I turned my back to him while he finished changing, unable to keep from being amused by his play on words. "You're indecent half of the time, and whether you're wearing clothes or not has little to do with it," I said quietly. I could hear him chuckle softly behind me as he finished changing.

"There," he said, letting me know I could turn around. I waited for some smart remark regarding the fact that it was my turn to undress, but a knock on the cabin door spared me having to endure any comment from Barbossa. "Enter," he called in reply to the knock, and the door opened as two pirates carried in a chest that looked surprisingly familiar.

I knew it contained women's clothes and that it had once belonged to Cornelia Beckett, and evidently it was one of the items salvaged from the ill-fated _Rogue Wave_ before she sank beneath the sea.

"In there," Barbossa directed, pointing to a smaller room adjoining the main cabin, which I surmised was a bedchamber. He was about to say something else to me, but was precluded from doing so by the sudden outburst from the pair that had carried in the chest.

"You're liftin' it up too high!" the shorter one snapped at his lanky companion.

"No, I'm not. You ain't liftin' it 'igh enough!" the younger, taller one snapped back, as the two then jostled for position at the doorway to see who was going to have to carry their end of the trunk in backward. It took them a moment to sort themselves out, and Barbossa rolled his eyes at what he was witnessing.

After giving me quizzical looks, the odd pair took their leave, still bickering with one another in undertones as Barbossa merely shook his head and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Ye'll find somethin' to make due with in there, I'll wager," he said to me, "and likely somethin' more suitable than that." He indicated the coat and riding breeches I wore, evidently letting me know he'd still prefer a dress. Not that I was going to have much choice in the matter, considering I knew that Cornelia would never have deigned to wear trousers of any sort.

I went to open the trunk, not realizing at first that he'd followed as far as the doorway.

"Ye might consider the one near the top," he offered, even as I lifted out the elegant dress of wine and black lace that I'd seen among Cornelia's dresses before. "I'll take the risk of sayin' 'tis my opinion ye'd fill it out better'n yer friend, Elizabeth."

I could hear the smirk in his voice even before I turned to face him, but I ignored his offhanded compliment regarding my figure. "I know what you did to her," I accused, setting the dress pointedly aside, apparently to his dismay. "Making her walk the plank in her underthings, poor girl," I admonished.

"It's not like she didn't deserve it," he protested, getting a bit defensive.

"Oh, really?" I asked, going through the trunk.

"Really. Wench stuck a knife in me chest second night on board," he complained.

"Huh, I considered doing the same thing," I said back sarcastically.

"Aye, now that might have been a problem," he said wryly. "If ye'd stuck a knife in me the first night you were on board the _Rogue_, then we never would have..."

"I get your meaning," I snapped, cutting him off, as I feared what his comment might reference that 'we never would have'.

"..._gotten to know each other so well_," he finished anyway, to make his point that he'd actually been about to say something nice.

"Oh."

I found what I was looking for, stood up and gave him a pointed look that indicated he should vacate the doorway, but he merely turned around to face his back to me and leaned his shoulder against the frame again.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "I need to change."

"I'm not stoppin' you," he said, without so much as glancing over his shoulder.

He didn't say it, but I knew the unspoken challenge that hung in the air concerned whether or not I trusted him, and I sighed and resigned myself to give him the benefit of the doubt and kicked off the wet boots I'd been wearing.

"So," he began after a minute, while I shrugged myself out of my jacket and began unbuttoning the shirt I'd thrown on earlier, "ye can swim… and quite well might I add."

"Yes. My uncle, the sailor who taught me to shoot, made sure that I knew how to swim when I was a little girl," I replied, stripping off the wet shirt.

"Liar," he said softly, and his voice was amused rather than angry. "You told me ye couldn't swim."

I started to reach for my wet riding breeches, but picked up the lavender silk nightgown I'd pulled out of the trunk instead, and slipped it over my head so that I'd have some manner of clothing on before I dropped my trousers. Not that I didn't trust Barbossa, but...

"As I recall, you were about to make me walk the plank. Of course I lied. I would have said anything I had to in order to keep from following Cornelia overboard."

I stepped out of the remaining breeches and then drew on the lavender silk dressing gown that matched the nightgown. The night attire I was wearing, like everything else I'd ever pulled out of that trunk, was considerably finer and more luxurious than anything I owned, and it was a wonderful change from the wet riding clothes. "Finished," I announced quietly, so he would know I was done.

He turned back to face me and looked me over appraisingly. "Already better,' he said, coming to stand closer to where I was trying to comb out my tangled wet hair. "You were never in danger of walking the plank, m'dear," he said gently. "I'd not have allowed it."

I paused with the comb in mid-stroke. "Now, how would I have known that?"

"You wouldn't," he said with a shrug.

"Precisely," I shot back softly, no real bite in my retort, and returned to the last few tangles as he watched me silently. I became aware of the fact that he said nothing for a long moment, and I discarded the comb back into the trunk and met his gaze. "What?" I asked.

Barbossa opened his mouth as if to speak, and then evidently thinking better about what he'd been about to utter, changed his mind and shook his head. "Nothin'. 'Tis late."

"Yes, it is," I agreed with a tired sigh.

He gestured to the bed beside us. "Ye'll bunk here fer tonight. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

"I see," I said warily, "and where are you staying?"

"Here, of course," he replied, sounding slightly irritated as he crossed to the far side of the bed. With a small groan, he lay down on the bed and blew out a breath sharply, sounding like he was exhausted, and I realized that I was as well.

"'Tis quite late," he said again softly after a moment, and I grew somewhat anxious when I realized he was once again implying I should join him. He must have seen the look that crossed my face.

"Madeline," he said gently, "ye have no reason to fear me. You should get some sleep." With that he tucked his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

It took me a few minutes for me to screw up enough courage to venture closer to the bed. I was about to sit down on the very edge when he opened one eye and spoke. "Lights," was all he said, indicating that he'd left a lot of lanterns lit.

I returned a moment later, having blown out all of the lanterns but one. "Better?"

"Aye," he said from where he was with his eyes shut.

Finally, I managed to situate myself on the very edge of the bed, lying curled up with my back to him, precariously balanced.

"Yer bein' ridiculous," he said from his side after a moment had passed, "and there be plenty of room."

"I'm fine," I insisted, not daring to move any closer.

"Suit yerself," came the reply from behind me. "I was jus' tryin' to be nice."

I could hear the smirk in his voice, and I addressed him accusingly. "Oh, like you even know how."

"Try me," he challenged quietly. I could feel his weight shift on the bed, and when I risked a glance over my shoulder, he had propped himself up on his elbow and was regarding me thoughtfully.

I looked away again. "What are you doing?"

"Attemptin' to be nice," he said. "'Twould be easier if I didn't have the back of yer head to speak to.

I finally let out an exasperated sigh and rolled over to face him, still keeping my back at the very edge of the bed.

"Better," he said, and then he chuckled.

"What's so funny?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, despite yer bein' such a fine upstandin' lady, it's only taken ye two hours this time to end up in bed with a pirate," he replied, clearly amusing himself.

My mouth dropped open for a moment at his audacity as he continued to laugh, and I sat up and scowled at him. "I thought you were attempting to be nice?"

"Aye, an' failin' miserably at that," he said with a roguish smile.

Tired, stressed and more than a little out of sorts by that point, I decided to let him know that I was in no mood for his inappropriate comments.

"You know," I began quite sternly, folding my arms across my chest in anger, "there's no reas...Oh!"

Since I had been balanced so close to the edge of the bed when I'd sat up, throwing my shoulders and head back defiantly as I crossed my arms shifted my weight just enough so that I lost my balance. I never finished admonishing him as I abruptly found myself on the floor, both my backside and my pride slightly bruised.

Barbossa had seen me topple off the bed, unable to catch myself in time, and called to me when he'd hear the _thud_ from my ungraceful landing.

"Madeline, are you alright?" he asked. From where I was picking myself up off the floor I could tell he was fighting back a laugh.

"Fine," I replied between gritted teeth, and I flopped myself on the bed on my back, further away from the edge, and folded my arms over my chest again while I knew he was struggling not to chuckle next to me. After what I'd been through since dinner with the ordeal of the midnight dash to freedom, as well as the abrupt upheaval of my life as I knew it, the tumble off the bed was the final straw, and I began to feel tears stinging my eyes as I lay there.

Barbossa had the good grace not to laugh out loud, and when all risk of him snickering inadvertently at my mishap had passed, he must have sensed that I was in a state of mild distress, since I hadn't bothered finishing the scolding I'd been about to give him.

I did my best to ignore him when he slid just a little bit closer to me. "Madeline," he said softly, his manner serious and subdued, "listen to me. I know much has happened to ye in a short span, but 'twill all be fine. Yer dry, and warm and safe aboard the fastest ship in the Caribbean, and fer the moment that's enough. Tomorrow we'll figure out what comes next."

I glanced over at where he spoke in the very dim light, propped up on his elbow next to me, and he continued.

"Ye know me well enough to know that I'd never harm a single hair on yer head," he whispered, reaching out to trail the back of his fingers once across my cheek, "and I hope ye trust me well enough that ye know I'd not lay a finger on you if it wasn't yer wish."

He withdrew his hand and rolled onto his back. "Get some sleep," he said.

Trying to take his advice, I lay there for a long while, listening to the steady breathing of the man who lay in the dark next to me. Wondering if he'd fallen asleep, I whispered to him. "Hector?"

"Aye?" he asked back in a sleepy and hushed voice.

"I'm very glad you're alive," I said softly, genuinely meaning it.

"So am I," he replied, "especially as seein' it means I be in bed with a beautiful woman at the moment."

I couldn't help but smile at his inappropriate words. "Could you behave, just for once?" I asked, unable to hide the fact that I wasn't irritated with his comment.

"For once? Alright," he said sleepily. "Anythin' fer you, M'lady."

He must have fallen asleep after that, but his last words before doing so left me in enough emotional turmoil that it was a while before I finally did likewise.

~o~


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you to all of you who have continued following the saga, and to everyone who has left such kind and thoughtful feedback on the story!

Another thank you to Freedom, as usual for the efforts she puts in to scrutinizing each chapter for me!

~o~

**Chapter Eight **

~o~

_"I'm very glad you're alive," I said softly, genuinely meaning it._

_"So am I," he replied, "especially as seein' it means I be in bed with a beautiful woman at the moment."_

_I couldn't help but smile at his inappropriate words. "Could you behave, just for once?" I asked, unable to hide the fact that I wasn't irritated with his comment._

_"For once? Alright," he said sleepily. "Anythin' fer you, M'lady."_

_He must have fallen asleep after that, but his last words before doing so left me in enough emotional turmoil that it was a while before I finally did likewise._

_~o~_

When I awoke the next morning aboard the _Black Pearl_, I wasn't at all surprised to find that I was alone, having fully expected that Barbossa would likely rise earlier and leave to give me some privacy. Not knowing exactly how long I'd have to myself, I quickly rose and went to find some manner of clothing that would be more appropriate to wear than the delicate night attire I had donned merely for the purpose of sleeping.

I glanced out into the main cabin to make sure I was definitely alone, and quickly went to trade my nightgown for a dress, considering Barbossa's request that I try the wine colored one I had discarded the night before. For some irrational reason I found myself slightly irritated and perhaps feeling a bit jealous of my dear Elizabeth when I thought of her wearing the elegant dress for Barbossa, and I set it aside again, pulling a dark blue one out of the old trunk instead.

I finished buttoning up the dress, and wanting to do something with my hair, picked up a brush and looked about for some sort of mirror. From the doorway I could see that there was a small one hung on the wall across the main cabin and was about to go and stand in front of it when a sudden realization dawned on me, and I backed up a step or two to see if I was right. I found that indeed, if I stood in the doorway between the bedchamber and the cabin, I could see the majority of the smaller room behind me, including the corner that held the trunk.

I began fuming when I realized that from where Barbossa had stood leaning against the doorway, with his back to me to supposedly offer me some privacy while I stripped off my wet shirt the night before, he'd actually been witness to everything I was doing while he let me trust him, completely unaware.

Unfortunately, he picked that moment to return to the cabin.

"Ah, ye'd be awake," he said pleasantly from where he was carrying in a plate of food. "Good, 'twould be best if ye met some of me crew and then...what?" he asked, breaking off when he saw the look on my face where I stood, arms folded across my chest and shoulder leaning against the doorway where his had been.

My voice was rather icy when I spoke. "I'd like to do something with my hair," I replied, "and I was wondering if you might have a mirror anywhere?"

"A mirror? Aye," he said, about to turn to point out the small one on the wall behind him, "there be one..." Suddenly he knew I knew, and by the look that crossed his face, he realized he was already in trouble.

"So," I began, unfolding my arms and placing my hands on my hips as I slowly sauntered across the cabin to stand in front of him, taking a deep breath that enhanced the view of that part of my anatomy which was fairly visible already thanks to the low cut dress, and then letting it out as I waxed pensive, "would you say, _Captain_, that my front side is as well-preserved as my backside?"

I do at least have to give Barbossa credit for being smart enough not to glance at the cleavage I had on display at that moment. "Aye," he answered, a bit unevenly, and he flashed me a small ingratiating smile.

I glared at him for a bit longer, furious. "Pirate," I snapped at him, throwing the brush I still held at him, only hitting him in the shoulder. I stormed across the cabin to the door and shoved it open, intent on putting as much distance between us as the ship would allow, but it was at that moment that I realized I was looking back at maybe two score pirates who were staring at me curiously from the other side, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Good mornin', Miss Gray," the pirate Barbossa had addressed as Gibbs said to me from where he stood at the front of the group.

"Good...morning," I said a bit distractedly from unexpectedly coming face to face with the entire crew.

Barbossa spoke quietly from just over my shoulder from where he'd followed along behind me. "I had thought to make introduction for you to me crew this mornin'."

"Oh."

Not one to ever be flustered for long, Barbossa stepped forward to address the men gathered on deck. "Gents," he began, calling across the deck to the lot of them, "I'd like ye to meet the sharpest surgeon in the Caribbean, and the finest lady I know, Doctor Madeline Gray."

He went on to inform them, in his own colorful fashion, that for as long as I was his guest aboard the ship, harassment of me in any manner would likely result in instantaneous and violent removal of certain anatomical parts, and that said parts would be chucked overboard to be followed immediately by the previous owner of said parts.

Needless to say, there were few aboard who doubted that Barbossa would make good on his threat.

While on the surface the first half of what he'd said sounded like a handsome introduction, I was the one person on board that knew the words he'd said held more meaning than that to be had at face value. They'd echoed the sentiments he'd spoken to me the day we'd parted, twelve years before, and if they were some attempt on his part at hitting a sentimental chord within me, he failed miserably.

I smiled and nodded at where the crew had murmured some collective greetings and then turned to glare at Barbossa as Gibbs shooed the rest of the pirates back off to work. "Quite a pretty introduction you made for me," I spat in a whisper, doubly irritated that he would have dredged up such an emotional moment in our past merely to make some shameful attempt at pacifying my anger.

He kept his expression neutral and his voice even. "I said nothin' that not be true, Madeline."

I stood there for a long minute, not because I wanted to converse with him any longer, but because I really didn't have anywhere else to go. I didn't know the ship at all, or any of the other pirates, and I had no cabin of my own to retreat to or anyone else to speak with. I think Barbossa recognized the fact that I was entirely lost at that moment, and he spoke very quietly.

"I left breakfast in the cabin," he said, indicating the doors behind him, "and if ye'd rather, I'll leave you to it in peace."

I said nothing, but nodded to acknowledge that I'd heard him, and made my way back to the cabin alone, leaving him standing on deck the same way.

~o~

Half an hour later, as I sat at the table alone, toying with the food I'd hardly touched and lamenting the fact that I was once again stuck aboard a pirate ship, a knock sounded at the cabin door. Thinking it to be Barbossa playing it safe, I ignored the knock until it came again, and then the door cracked open a smidge.

"Miss Gray," Mr. Gibbs called through the door, "might I come in?"

"Please do," I said politely, but without much enthusiasm, and Gibbs stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

"Pardon the intrusion, Miss, but Cap'n asked that I check and see if there be anythin' yeh need."

I smiled at him again to be polite. "Thank you, Mr. Gibbs. You may tell the captain that there is nothing I require at the moment."

"Aye. That I will," he answered with a brief smile and nod, and he excused himself from the cabin.

Two minutes later, while I sat staring blankly at the table and picking up and dropping the same grape repeatedly on the plate in front of me, another knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," I called, looking up to see who it was.

It was Gibbs again.

"Beg pardon again, Doctor," he said politely, "but the cap'n has asked me to see if breakfast was to yer likin'."

I shot him a bit of a puzzled look and then shrugged, glancing at the fruit and cheese that remained on the plate. "Yes, Mr. Gibbs. Please tell the captain that breakfast was fine."

"Good," Gibbs said with a nod, "I'll tell 'im." He disappeared through the door again.

I shook my head, and then plunked my chin on my hand as my elbow rested on the table, staring out the windows of the cabin that revealed nothing but miles of open sea.

A minute or so later, another knock followed, and this time Gibbs just poked his head in a bit. "Apologies, ma'am," he said, letting himself all the way in after a few seconds. "Cap'n just asked me to fetch somethin' fer 'im."

I smiled and shrugged. "Be my guest," I said pleasantly. I wasn't expecting Gibbs to retrieve the mirror that had been the source of the morning's confrontation between Barbossa and myself.

Gibbs gave me an uneasy smile and retreated from the cabin with the mirror in hand. By that point, I must admit, I was starting to become rather amused.

I watched the doors for a moment, and could tell when someone stepped outside them again, a minute or two later. "Come in, Mr. Gibbs," I called, watching as the man dragged himself into the cabin once more, starting to look a bit exasperated.

"Cap'n would like..." he began, unable to finish due to the fact that I cut him off gently.

"Mr. Gibbs, while your efforts have been most helpful this morning, I think it might be best if you just advised Captain Barbossa that he may speak with me himself, as long as the first words out of his mouth are a sincere and heartfelt apology." I gave him a genuine smile, which he returned, apparently grateful to have been relieved of messenger duty.

"Aye, I'll tell 'im straight 'way," he said, quickly disappearing through the door one final time.

I sat staring out the window again, the thumb of one hand pressed firmly against the wrist of the other in an effort to alleviate the nausea that was beginning to plague me that morning, when I heard the door to the cabin shut.

"'Twould help if ye ate somethin' as well," Barbossa said, obviously understanding that I was feeling a bit seasick, referring to the nearly untouched plate of food in front of me. "It'll pass quickly, in a couple of days, like last time."

I said nothing as I was preoccupied my growing nausea, and I continued to toy with the same grape on the plate in front of me as I waited for the apology I felt I was owed.

"I know ye must be angry with me still," he said as he approached.

I shook my head, and finally turned to look at him. "No," I said softly, "just very disappointed." By the look on his face I would say that he would have preferred me to be mad.

"Madeline," he said, appearing to be genuinely concerned, "I apologize sincerely if I've offended ye. 'Twere a harmless enough thing...I meant not to cause ye any grief..."

"You meant not to be found out," I accused softly.

A characteristic roguish half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Aye, well there be that, too," he admitted.

I recall being entirely set upon the idea that I was going to stay mad at him and frustrated with the fact that I was unable to do so, and he must have sensed the change in my demeanor.

"Seems as if ye'll be havin' to start a new list," he said, tugging at sentimental heartstrings again while he referred to the list I'd previously told him I was maintaining of things I'd consider forgiving him for.

"So it would seem," I said with a defeated sigh, and finally let a smile start to tug at the corners of my mouth.

"Good." His manner became a fair bit more animated at that point. "I have someone I'd like ye to meet."

Curious as to what he meant, I waited in the cabin as he asked, while he went below to fetch what would become the bane of my existence. I had no idea how much worse my first twenty-four hours on board the _Black Pearl_ were going to get. Feeling progressively more seasick as I waited, I kept pressure on my wrist, hoping to avoid the indignity of having to revisit my sparse breakfast.

I was sitting at the table in the cabin when the door re-opened and Barbossa walked in with the creature on his shoulder, and I remember how naïve I was to think how sweet it seemed at that particular moment.

I must have had an expression of surprise and joy at seeing the adorable monkey that clung to his collar, and I could see that Barbossa looked pleased at my initial response. "Oh my, he's adorable!" I cried, watching the big inquisitive eyes in the little face, darting all over me and then back to Barbossa. "Yours?" I asked.

He nodded. "We spend a lot of time together, he and I," he replied, echoing what I'd said about my horse.

I gushed over the little beast for another minute, finally asking what his name was.

"Jack," Barbossa replied dryly.

"Jack?" I asked, giving him a pointed look. "Would that be after Jack Sparrow by any chance?"

Barbossa shrugged and gave me the most innocent look he could muster. "Mayhap," was all he said before he spoke to Jack. "Jack, where be yer manners? Go an' say hello to May," he said, pointing at me where I sat at the table.

I remember that I actually was looking forward to meeting the little beast at that particular moment in time. "Come on," I said quietly, holding out my arm to him. His eyes darted around the room, and then back to me, and I thought it completely adorable that he seemed to scrutinize me before making up his mind. Finally he jumped, coming to land on my outstretched arm, and he sat there gazing at my face.

Jack only took a minute to run up on my shoulder, and I laughed as his nimble little fingers reached out to touch my nose and lips, and then he busied himself unbraiding my hair for a few moments. I managed to run my fingers across the furry little head a few times, and Jack showed no sign of discomfort at my touch.

I glanced back to see Barbossa watching us with a smile, looking pleased that Jack appeared to take to me so quickly. "He's wonderful," I said, laughing at the capuchin still toying with the remnants of my braid. "How long have you had him?"

"Twelve years," Barbossa replied, coming to stand closer to me. "Picked him up in Tortuga just before I left on the _Pearl."_

I would have liked to have made a bigger fuss over Jack, but as marvelous as I found Barbossa's furry companion, I was still feeling quite green about the gills. Barbossa must have sensed my growing distress, and he held out his arm to the monkey.

"Come 'ere, Jack," he said, as the monkey stayed put on my shoulder and pointedly ignored him. "Jack..." he tried again, his voice more stern the second time. Jack still played with my hair and disregarded his master.

"Here," I said, standing up so Barbossa could fetch Jack off my shoulder. The change of posture caused a wave of dizziness to wash over me, and I must have swayed a little. Barbossa deftly reached out to take me by the arms, steadying me on my feet.

"Ow!" I cried out suddenly, causing Barbossa to frown. Jack had still been playing with my hair, and managed to yank a handful of it a little too hard. Seeing the monkey was beginning to be a nuisance, Barbossa picked him up off my shoulder and set him on the table.

"Behave, Jack," Barbossa said sternly.

"Apologies, May," he said, looking back at me with concern as the color drained out of my face and I grew lightheaded. He drew nearer again, while neither of us paid the least attention to Jack, where he was watching me intently with those quick dark eyes.

"Here," he said softly, reaching out to steady me again, pulling me a bit closer the second time. Barbossa never got the chance to finish what he'd been about to say as the piercing scream I let out stopped him in his tracks. I grabbed at my ear where Jack had sunk his teeth into me, and drew back fingers covered in blood, as Jack made an ungodly screeching sound at me, clearly displeased at my proximity to Barbossa, and then launched himself off my head and across the cabin.

The door to the cabin cracked open at that moment, and Gibbs poked his head in reluctantly after hearing me scream. Finding me still in Barbossa's grasp, he assumed the worst, and looking quite nervous about intruding on his captain's business, nonetheless sought to make sure I was all right.

"Is all well, Cap'n?" he asked, and suddenly he was jostled from beyond the door, and stumbled into the cabin after he'd been knocked off balance by Pintel and Ragetti, the two pirates from the night before. The odd duo had been hot on Gibb's tail to find out what was going on in the cabin, and likewise stumbled in through the doorway when Gibbs, whom they were leaning on, lost his balance.

Barbossa scowled dangerously at them but never got the chance to answer before I spoke.

"He bit me!" I said angrily, making the mistake of not being specific enough in my accusation, and I held my hand out away from my ear, fingers covered in my own blood.

Of course, all the three pirates saw when they entered the cabin was me being held tightly by the arms by Barbossa, where I was holding my wounded ear and bleeding, not knowing what had actually taken place a moment before.

"Sir?" Gibbs asked, looking a bit distressed.

"You _bit_ 'er?" Pintel asked Barbossa, having evidently assumed the worst of his captain based on the scene in the cabin. He glanced at his companion, Ragetti. " A bit perverse, ain't it?"

Ragetti nodded in agreement and looked back at Barbossa. "'E's gotta point, Cap'n."

"The _monkey_!" Barbossa said, quite irritated. "She means the monkey! _Jack_ bit Madeline, you idiots."

Gibbs looked quickly at me, and I nodded. "The monkey," I confirmed. "The twitchy little monster bit me for no reason," I snapped, and I turned my head to show the wound to him. Sure enough, he confirmed that I had the imprint of Jack's teeth along my earlobe.

I didn't really pay much attention to what else was being said, as I was preoccupied with my bleeding ear, the monkey who was jumping up and down on his perch, screeching threateningly at me, and most importantly, the imminent crisis I was about to experience from seasickness.

All I can say is that I am thankful that Barbossa and Gibbs were such seasoned seamen, and they both recognized the signs of impending doom after years of being around drunken pirates. Before I could take more than a step toward the door, each had me by an arm and out onto the deck, managing to lean me over the railing before I chucked my breakfast into the sea alongside the _Pearl_.

Gibbs tucked a handkerchief in my hand where I was still doubled over the rail, and spoke to Barbossa. "I'll go an' see about somethin' to get 'er settled," he said, and he left to go below.

I leaned there, hoping the turmoil in my gut was at its end, while Barbossa held my arm in one hand, pressing his fingers into my wrist, and the other held my hair back out of the way. Finally, I managed to speak through my nausea induced panting.

"I already hate this bloody ship," I croaked, completely miserable as I righted myself and wiped my mouth with Gibbs' handkerchief, and then tried to dab some of the blood off that was running down my neck.

I wasn't looking at him, but I could hear the amusement in Barbossa's voice when he spoke. "Now, don't be sayin' such a thing, lass. The _Pearl_, here, be the second finest lady I've had in all me life."

I may have been sick as a dog at the moment, but I wasn't so incapacitated that I missed what his words implied, and I leaned against him for a while with my eyes closed, knowing well that it was not the ship, but her master that was causing me no little conflict of emotions.

~o~


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine **

~o~

_"I already hate this bloody ship," I croaked, completely miserable as I righted myself and wiped my mouth with Gibbs' handkerchief, and then tried to dab some of the blood off that was running down my neck._

_I wasn't looking at him, but I could hear the amusement in Barbossa's voice when he spoke. "Now, don't be sayin' such a thing, lass. The Pearl, here, be the second finest lady I've had in all me life."_

_I may have been sick as a dog at the moment, but I wasn't so incapacitated that I missed what his words implied, and I leaned against him for a while with my eyes closed, knowing well that it was not the ship, but her master that was causing me no little conflict of emotions._

_~o~_

When at last Mr. Gibbs arrived back at where it looked like I was done demonstrating just what I'd eaten for breakfast, it was with a cup of something, and the thought of trying to eat or drink anything at that moment made my stomach clench.

"Here yeh go," he said cheerfully. "This'll calm things down a bit."

"What is it?" I asked, straightening up from where I'd been leaning against Barbossa while I tried to ascertain whether or not I could stand on my own.

"Tea," Gibbs replied, "with a bit 'o ginger to settle things down a mite."

He handed me the cup and I sniffed it tentatively, wrinkling my nose at the strong aroma. "This smells like rum," I said, holding the cup away at arm's length.

"Aye," Gibbs confirmed, "just a splash o' rum to settle yer nerves. 'Tis best drunk straight away an' all at once."

I eyed the concoction warily again for a moment, not quite trusting my poor addled innards.

"Down the hatch," Gibbs said cheerfully.

I finally decided that I would risk complying while I stood near the rail, on the chance that his potion would perhaps come back up.

While I did manage to down the entire mug full with a minimum of coughing and sputtering at the bottom, it was apparent that Gibbs' idea of a _splash of rum_ and mine were probably an order of magnitude apart. I don't really know if the smattering of ginger and tea helped at all, and my suspicion is that that much rum serves to just make one not really care that they're seasick at the moment, but his concoction stayed put, and I managed a weak, grateful smile.

"Come with me," Barbossa ordered me gently, taking me by the arm once Gibbs had taken his leave of us, and it appeared as though any imminent danger had passed. He started to lead me to the stairs that rose to the quarterdeck.

I tried to withdraw my arm gently. "I think I'll just go and have a bit of a lie-down," I said weakly.

He let go but shook his head. "Worst thing ye could do, lass," he replied, indicating with a nod toward the stairs that I should go first, and I finally complied with his order and climbed the stairs with him close behind me.

A grizzled old salt stood at the wheel with a bright, colorful bird on his shoulder, and each turned an inquisitive stare my way.

"Master Cotton," Barbossa addressed him, "I'll take 'er fer now." Cotton, a mute, I would find out later, nodded his silent acknowledgement of Barbossa's instructions, and relinquished his position at the helm.

I smiled at him as he passed by me, the bird flapping its wings once or twice to maintain its balance on his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

"_Saucy wench_!" it cried suddenly. "_Raaauuuch! Saucy wench_!"

I laughed a little at the bird and Cotton smiled and shrugged, indicating that he didn't necessarily have control of the bird's opinions.

"Seasick wench be more like it," Barbossa comment wryly, from where he stood next to me, one hand resting lazily upon the great ship's wheel.

The look I gave him could not be construed as a pleasant one, but I had no strength for any sort of verbal admonishment. "Why did you drag me up here?" I asked.

"Ye'll feel better up here with a bit of a breeze," he commented, watching the horizon and not me. "Helps if ye can anticipate the pitch and roll of the ship by bein' near the helm."

"I see," I answered, actually feeling a tiny bit better. "Have you ever been seasick?"

"Me?" he asked, glancing at me briefly. "Aye, I've chucked me breakfast over the side more'n a handful of times when I was younger. This helpin'?"

"Yes."

He glanced at where I had was exploring the bite would on my swollen earlobe with my fingers. "Jack often has a mind of his own, as yeh found out. Tends to be a bit possessive of 'is master."

"So it would seem," I said, flashing him a faint smile that told him I knew the bite wasn't his fault.

Barbossa continued to scan the horizon while he stood at the wheel. "Can't say as I blame him fer wantin' to nibble on yer ear," he said wryly, smirking to himself.

"Nibble? I'd hardly consider that...I thought you were going to be nice for once?" I asked him, giving him an exasperated look.

"Ye only asked me fer once and last night was it," he said, still clearly amusing himself.

"Yes, well go ahead and have your fun," I said caustically, still in pain. "I assure you I am not nearly as amused as you are."

"'Twas merely meant as a compliment," he said, feigning innocence.

I was still sore and slightly ill, and I wasn't in the mood for his teasing. "I suppose I shouldn't expect any better from..."

"From what?" he asked abruptly in a dangerous low voice, a sudden storm gathering behind the clear blue gaze. "A pirate? Apologies if that be beneath yer station, _Doctor_."

"I didn't mean..."

"Not all of us be fine gentlemen like yer _lieutenant_," he snarled quietly at me.

Feeling my own frustration and anger rising, I snapped back at him. "Well, I've probably lost my lieutenant thanks to you. How do you think he's going to react when Charles Beckett informs him that I threw my life away just to try to save you? What do you suppose his opinion will be of me now?"

His expression darkened further. "I didn't ask ye to risk anythin' fer me," he growled, "and I'd not give a bilge rat's arse 'bout yer lieutenant's opinion."

I opened my mouth to make some cutting remark, and then thought better of it and turned away. "Yes, but I do," I said quietly. I didn't realize how much more my admission would wound him than if I'd yelled at him about him being selfish, as I'd first intended. Silence hung in the air between us for several long minutes.

"Our headin' is west to Port Calais, near Nassau," he said, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "There ye can get word to yer fiancée and find out if he'll join you."

"Join me?" I asked, completely confused.

"Aye. Yeh can't go back to Port Royal, lass," he replied, sounding a bit guilty. "Ye'd be hung fer conspiring with pirates within a day of settin' foot ashore. Unless he can manage a pardon from the governor, yer only hope be that he'll resign his post and join you."

The pardon would have been very possible, had Elizabeth's father still been alive, but the new governor was an avid pirate-hater, as Barbossa was well aware. I still had my back to him, but I could feel that he stepped closer to me. "If that be the case, I'll see to it that ye make it to England, or wherever else ye choose." He turned and shouted across the deck below. "Master Ragetti!"

I waited while the summoned Ragetti made his way quickly across the deck. "You'd do that for me?" I asked.

"Aye," he whispered behind me, just before Ragetti joined us, "anythin' fer you, M'lady." He faced Ragetti. "Take the helm," he merely said, and then he walked away.

I stood there feeling a bit awkward, unsure what to do until the younger pirate spoke to me. "Ragetti," he said, extending his hand and making an attempt at being civil.

"I guessed as much," I said with a faint smile, taking the hand he offered, and then I suddenly realized upon looking him in the face up close that his right eye had been replaced with an orb of carved wood. "I'm Madeline."

"Yeah, I know," he said, grinning back at me and taking the wheel.

"Oh –right," I replied. "My _introduction_ this morning."

"Nah. Knew who yeh was before that," he said cheerfully.

I understood him perfectly. "Thank you for the flowers," I said pleasantly. "They were beautiful."

"Y'welcome," he said, sharing another grin with me and then turning back to his steering.

~o~

Ragetti, it turned out, was not so unlike his captain, in that there certainly was much more to him than met the eye, wooden or otherwise. Tall, lanky, unrefined and unlearned, he nevertheless possessed a good deal more insight into what was happening in the world around him than many of his companions, and he wasted no time in making that apparent to me.

"Shame 'bout you bein' engaged," he said evenly, attempting to make conversation of sorts.

I gave him a questioning look.

"No secrets on a pirate ship," he explained.

I nodded, knowing painfully well from past experience how true that was. "Why would that be a shame?"

"Well, I mean," he started, realizing he'd misspoken, "seein' as 'ow it's ta someone else."

"Someone else?" I asked, puzzled. His nod, followed by a quick glance in the direction Barbossa had gone explained where his comment had come from. For some reason, I wanted to hear more of his line of thought. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, considerin' 'e's been in luv wiv you for so long," Ragetti explained matter of factly, and then suddenly clamped a hand over his mouth and looked alarmed.

It would have been funnier if his statement hadn't blindsided me emotionally, but I managed to give him a reassuring smile. "This conversation stays here on the quarterdeck with us, Mr. Ragetti."

He still seemed disinclined to offer any more comments, and I had to work at getting any more information out of him. "You've known him a long time, then?"

"Yeah, since b'fore the mut'ny," he explained, and then looked panicked again. "I mean...since...well...before..."

I put a reassuring hand on his arm for a brief minute. "You can use the word 'mutiny' in front of me, Ragetti. You do realize I understand he's a pirate?"

Ragetti nodded, apparently relieved that he hadn't done anything to further damage my opinion of his captain.

I realized that if Ragetti had known Barbossa that long, then it must mean the pirate standing next to me was one of those who had shared in the terrible curse. "You must have been cursed too," I said gently.

"Yeah. Not many of us lef'," he replied. "Jus' me 'n Pintel, 'n Barbossa."

"Only three of you?" It never occurred to me that so few of them had survived the curse.

He nodded. "Rest were killed at Isla de Muerta once the curse were lifted, or captured like we was an' scheduled t' be hung." He elbowed me conspiratorially. "Me 'n Pintel was clever an' escaped, tho."

"Well, that's a fair stroke of luck," I said pleasantly.

"You're jus' as nice as Barbossa always said you was," Ragetti said brightly after my comment.

"He spoke about me?" I asked, feeling a lot of things all at once.

"To me, anyway," Ragetti said proudly. "Cap'n an' I discussed a fair few impor'ant matters, I'd say."

"Really? What did he say?" I asked before I knew if I was ready to or wanted to know the answer.

"Not sure I should tell ya that," Ragetti replied, much to my relief and great disappointment simultaneously. I think he could sense the disappointment I felt more, and he whispered to me. "Always's thought 'e was exag'ratin' how pretty you was. You know, braggin' like all pirates do 'bout their ships an' women, but 'e was right."

I never got a chance to say anything in reply, as the lookout calling down caught everyone's attention on the ship, including mine and Ragetti's.

"_Sail, ho!_"

Those two words caused a flurry of activity on deck, and a moment later Barbossa reappeared and climbed to where I stood with Ragetti, Gibbs close behind in his wake. He spared not the slightest glance at me, and went to the rail to scrutinize the ship in the distance through a spyglass.

"She's a merchant ship, alright," Barbossa said as he looked, speaking to himself and to Gibbs. "Probably headin' for Nassau port...she be sittin' pretty low...might jus' be worth our while, Master Gibbs."

He turned to where Gibbs had been waiting for orders with an air of anticipation and a sly smile crossed his face. "Let's introduce her to the _Black Pearl_."

"Aye, Cap'n!" Gibbs replied, his mood buoyed by the order as he turned to call instructions to the crew. "She's a beauty, lads! Let's show those lubbers the meanin' of speed!" He hurried off to see to initiating the chase that was about to begin.

Ragetti darted down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and Barbossa replaced him at the helm, turning the wheel to adjust our heading to send us in a line of direct pursuit with the ship in the distance.

I said nothing, but watched the crew scatter with practiced efficiency across the deck and up the rigging and down to the gun platforms. It wasn't long before the _Pearl_ was carrying close to every inch of canvas she was able, and the repetitive booming thud of each gun port opening and cannon slamming into place sounded from below decks.

Barbossa didn't look at me, but that didn't mean I couldn't hear every last bit of biting sarcasm that his words held. "Ye'll excuse us, _Doctor_ Gray, if a handful of humble pirates try to earn their keep."

"And if I don't excuse you?" I asked, curious as well as infuriated.

He smiled at me but it didn't reach his eyes. "Another thing I'd not give a bilge rat's arse about."

I set my jaw and said nothing back, refusing to let him goad me, and I watched as little by little, it became apparent that the _Black Pearl_ was overtaking the ship in our sights.

"If yer gonna remain on deck," Barbossa said after a few minutes, "it'll be without that dress.

There was no hint of sarcasm I could detect and I held the dirty look I'd been about to give him in check as he continued.

"I'd prefer, _if ye'd not mind_," he said evenly, "that they not spot a woman on me ship."

"Afraid it would jeopardize your fearsome reputation, Captain?" I spat back angrily, heading for the stairs to the deck.

"Nay, it be only to keep from confirmin' where ye be until ye can get word to Groves," he said, surprising me again with the fact that he knew Jonathan's name. "As of this moment, no one at the East India Trading Company or Fort Charles knows where ye'd be fer certain, and word passes quickly from ship to shore."

I went to the cabin and retrieved my clothes from the day before, and plunked myself down on the edge of Barbossa's bed, wondering whether or not I should just stay put. I confess that curiosity got the better of me, and despite the danger that was inherent in being on deck, I decided that I would venture out, at least for the moment.

When I reappeared back on the quarterdeck in breeches and shirt, shrugging myself into my long red riding coat, Barbossa raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, but said nothing else for several minutes.

When he did speak, it was very softly, and his tone bore a trace of concern. "If I order you below, will ye go when I say?"

"Yes," I replied with a sigh.

He turned and looked me over, his eyes traveling from the boots I wore to the breeches and long frockcoat, and then to the braid I'd hastily tied my hair in. "You could almost pass fer a pirate," he said, mischief back in his voice.

"An' a fetchin' one at that," he added, even as I'd opened my mouth to retort to his first comment.

"And you could almost pass for charming," I replied, trying to fight the smile that was threatening to cross my face, "if you weren't such a rogue."

"Hold this," he said, indicating the wheel, and I complied hesitantly while he drew out the glass and scrutinized the ship again. "I think you like me because I'm a rogue, Doctor Gray."

"Who says I like you?" I asked, teasing him despite my instinct that it was trouble to do so.

He lowered the spyglass and winked at me. "You like me well enough that I'm standin' here on me ship with you, rather'n facin' the gallows today."

I understood the thank you in his flirtatious comment, and finally smiled at him, agreeing that I had preferred to risk my career and my engagement, rather than see him hang. "I imagine that ship's not going to be very happy that I saved you," I said, starting to become concerned about the rapidly closing distance, knowing the measure to be approaching the range of the _Pearl_'s guns.

"Aye, that be very true," he replied smugly, roguish half smile I knew from a decade before still there. "Care to hoist me colors, lass?"

"I think not," I replied, wanting no part whatsoever in the raid that was imminent.

"Suit yerself," he replied, and then turned to call down to Gibbs. "Master Gibbs! Hoist our colors!"

A moment later Barbossa's distinctive flag was flying above the mainmast, and if the ship in the distance had any doubts about the identity of the ship with black sails that bore down on her with great haste, that Jolly Roger would have erased any of those doubts.

A long while passed as we drew steadily closer, and at last Barbossa called down to Gibbs, who was directing the crew on deck. "Master Gibbs!"

"Aye, sir?" Gibbs called back to the quarterdeck.

"Where be yer manners?" Barbossa asked him with a wicked laugh. "Say hello to our fine neighbors!"

"Aye, sir!" Gibbs called back enthusiastically.

I probably should have been prepared for what would happen next, but I hadn't realized what Barbossa had in mind, and when the crew fired the first cannon in a warning shot for the ship we pursued, the sudden blast startled me, and I jumped and clutched him by the arm.

He glanced at me casually, smirking at the fact that I was sheepishly removing my hand from his elbow.

"Must you do this?" I asked, concern for the ship and crew we pursued evident in my voice. I think it was quite clear that I was becoming visibly upset and anxious about the inevitable attack.

Barbossa remained undaunted by my obvious distaste for what was happening, and actually spoke with a measure of pride in his voice. "Ah, Madeline," he said, indicating I should hold the wheel again while he picked the spyglass back up, " yer finally gettin' the chance to see _The Pearl_ in action." He scrutinized the other ship's reaction to the warning shot carefully through the glass.

"I've seen your _Black Pearl_ in action," I lamented. "You devastated my home not so many months ago.

"Desperate times, lass," he said evenly.

"I suppose you have an excuse like that for everything you've done," I said, angry once more.

He met my unhappy gaze with one of those unblinking blue stares that would have sent me cowering in a corner if I didn't know so well that he'd never harm me, then the storm behind his eyes passed as fast as it swept in. "No," was all he said before turning to gaze at the ship again.

I wasn't sure what to read into his simple answer, but the fact that he began to chuckle next to me, and then tossed his head back and laughed wickedly caught me quite off guard. I'm afraid that I actually thought him a bit mad at that moment, until he made clear to me the reason for his amusement.

"Here," he said, handing me the glass and taking back the wheel. "I believe this be an old friend of ours, Madeline." He smirked as he turned away, waiting for me to look.

I had to keep my jaw from dropping open, and then I am sure that some small part of me actually had to fight back a smile, when I looked through the spyglass he'd handed me. The ship, which was at that moment hoisting a white flag and heaving to, across her transom, bore none other than the name _Essex_.

~o~

**A/N:** Just a heads-up that there's a new fic in the works by a collaboration of PotC authors at ffnet and a few from LJ that will each be contributing a chapter. The collaboration will be called _Mothers of the Caribbean,_ and each chapter will feature a backstory about the mum of one of the characters from PotC. It was inspired by a thread over at the Broken Compass, and we have 16 authors contributing. The first chapter (they're in alphabetical order) should be up Friday, to be followed every few days by a new one, so keep an eye out for it and be sure to give all the different authors some feedback! Thanks, mates!

And yes, I'm doing the one for Barbossa's mum. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten **

~o~

_"Here," he said, handing me the glass and taking back the wheel. "I believe this be an old friend of ours, Madeline." He smirked as he turned away, waiting for me to look._

_I had to keep my jaw from dropping open, and then I am sure that some small part of me actually had to fight back a smile, when I looked through the spyglass he'd handed me. The ship, which was at that moment hoisting a white flag and heaving to, across her transom, bore none other than the name Essex._

~o~

_The Essex_, still captained by Silas Flint, was the very ship I had been bound for England on, close to twelve years before, when on the first of May, Hector Barbossa and his buccaneer crew raided her just after dark. They'd relieved her of most of the cargo she carried, including two of her female passengers, one of which was me.

I handed Barbossa back the spyglass, a worried frown crossing my countenance. "You're not going to harm them, are you?"

"Harm them?" Barbossa replied smugly, after glancing briefly at the surrendering vessel we were coming alongside. "They're flyin' a white flag and have surrendered peaceful-like, and ye think I'd do aught to harm them? What sort of monster do ye think me to be?"

The fearful look in my eyes at that moment must have revealed the fact that I knew precisely what he was capable of, and even as the crew of the _Black Pearl_ readied to board the unlucky _Essex_, he stepped closer to me and dropped his voice.

"Is it yer wish they not be harmed?" he asked softly, reaching out to trail a finger across my cheek.

"It is," I pleaded, trying to meet the intense gaze steadily.

"Then so it shall be," he said with a single gallant nod of his head. He reached for the back of my head, and I tensed a little, unsure what his intention was, and he smiled at my reaction to his nearness as he took hold of the braid that fell down my back, piled it on my head and plunked his own hat down over it to hide my long hair.

~o~

As one might surmise, being a doctor of medicine and a woman with a fair measure of life experience under her belt, I was not foolish enough to think that the reason Barbossa did nothing to harm the crew of the _Essex_ that day had much to do with my wishes. I would learn later that poor Captain Flint had been unfortunate enough over the years to have been raided three times altogether by the _Black Pearl_, once even, under the command of Jack Sparrow. This, of course, was in addition to the original raid by the _Rogue Wave_, during which Barbossa and I had first become acquainted.

It was more due to the fact that Flint, wise old salt that he was, knew better than to challenge such a formidable pirate ship, and decided to limit his losses to cargo only, knowing that Barbossa would honor the surrender as long as his men remained complacent.

However, the fact that Barbossa played to my emotions and made it seem that my wish might be his command still managed to dispel some of the irritation I felt with him for his actions of the previous twenty-four hours, and for plundering an innocent merchant ship.

I watched from the quarterdeck, frustrated that he was able to manipulate me emotionally, as his crew swarmed over the prize they'd captured, and Barbossa leaned both hands on the railing and called across in a cocksure manner.

"Greetin's, Cap'n Flint!" he cried jovially.

"And to you, Captain Barbossa," Flint called back, remaining polite, but clearly displeased.

"Ye'd be well?" Barbossa asked cordially.

"Aye," Flint said with a sigh, "as well as can be expected at the moment."

"And yer missus?" Barbossa asked, just as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while.

"Fine, fine, thanks," Flint replied. "We're expecting our first grandchild shortly."

"'Tis a fine thing," Barbossa called across. "Ye must be anxious to get home, then. Me lads'll be quick so you can get underway."

As it turned out, Barbossa, having some tiny sense of pity for a man who had been raided by pirates so many times, would merely relieve him of the most valuable and easily fenced items, leaving him enough cargo that there still might be a tiny bit of profit left in the voyage for Flint.

And he wasted no time in letting me know of his generosity when he rejoined me on the quarterdeck while the crew was still at work.

"I hope you don't expect either Captain Flint or me to thank you for only stealing half his cargo," I said in reply.

"Perhaps Cap'n Flint ought to thank ye," Barbossa smirked. "Go across if you like."

"No, thank you," I said, shaking my head at his comment.

"Why not?" Barbossa continued, roguish smile in place. "'Twould be like old times, May. I'd not be opposed to stealin' you off the ship again."

I was having a great deal of trouble not smiling at his playful suggestions.

"Then after, we could retire to my cabin and have..."

"I hardly think so," I said, my face feeling warm as I admonished him and turned away.

"And _have dinner together_, like before," he said pointedly, to make clear his suggestion had been intended to be completely innocent.

"Oh." I gave him small smile, relieved that that was the extent of his comment. I should have known better.

"Of course," he said slyly, "I'd not find issue with it if ye were to borrow me coat to go with me hat after dinner."

I recognized the implication in his words, as the last time I'd had to borrow his coat, it'd had been the only thing I'd been wearing. I turned away again, not wanting him to see I was blushing, and being unsuccessful at keeping him from realizing.

"I'm glad to see I can yet make ye blush," he said softly, coming up behind me and placing his hands on my shoulders, "and I wonder how else ye might yet respond to me."

I knew he was playing me even as I felt helpless to resist the small leap my heart gave at his words and the memories he was dredging up. He leaned close to my uninjured ear and whispered again when I made no move to pull away.

"If it not be fer two good reasons," he breathed, trailing a long black nail lightly across where my pulse beat rapidly at my throat, "I'd be kissin' you here right now."

I swallowed hard. "What would those reasons be?"

"Well, firstly," he whispered, sounding amused, "if I did, Cap'n Flint would think I'd been at sea too long and had crossed the line to fancy me cabin boy."

I couldn't help but start to laugh as I pictured what things would look like on the quarterdeck at that moment from the perspective of the _Essex_. "And the second reason?" I asked, trying not to giggle.

"Ye haven't given me permission," he said, even as he let go and headed for the stairs.

I glanced after where he had gone, and before he made it down the stairs he shot a single word back over his should. "Yet."

I rolled my eyes in exasperation, and shook my head, frustrated with myself for falling for his roguish charm at all, as much as with him for employing it.

~o~

I found it no surprise that after the crew of the _Black_ _Pearl_ spent the afternoon unloading the _Essex_ and exalting in the haul they'd managed to acquire from the unlucky ship, that spirits would be running high on board, and therefore the men would be in a celebratory mood.

With the crew breaking into the supply of rum that they'd relieved Captain Flint of, and things beginning to get a little boisterous, Barbossa wisely decided that I'd best remain under his watchful eye, where I was less likely to meet with any mischief at the hands of inebriated pirates.

"'Twould be best if ye stayed in the cabin with me while the lads celebrate," he explained, deciding it was time when the first rowdy drinking song broke out on deck. "Would ye be opposed to dinner with me?"

He saw the mistrustful look I started to give him and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Jus' dinner," he added quickly, doing his best not to smirk.

I nodded in acquiescence and followed him to the cabin, where he lit lanterns and candles and proceeded to produce a bottle of wine. "Compliments of Cap'n Flint," he said wryly. "I'll deal with this while you go an' change."

"Change?" I asked, hesitating where I'd been about to sit at the table.

"Aye, to attire more suited fer a lady such as yerself," Barbossa continued, doing his best to be charming.

"You've been ordering me to change clothes all day," I complained, as I headed for the adjacent room to find the dress I'd discarded earlier.

"Better'n orderin' ye jus' to remove 'em," he called from out in the main cabin.

I hesitated where I was changing, and then thought better of replying with any sort of remark that might encourage him, and managed to button myself back into the dark blue dress without further comment from Barbossa.

"My apologies ahead of time," he said, when I stepped back into the main cabin. "We've not had the likes of Jerome on board fer many a year, an' the current cook be well into his cups already."

Barbossa had managed to put together a simple dinner for us of cold meat and cheese, but the wine from the _Essex_ was wonderful, and I felt a great wave of nostalgia even though the elegant food from the _Rogue Wave_ was absent.

"Did ye ever go back to England?" he asked, making conversation while we ate.

I nodded. "I've been back home to see my family twice," I replied, "and my father and uncles managed to visit once to see the new hospital I built."

We spoke for a long time, well past when dinner was gone and the last of the bottle of wine was poured, and in a natural lull in the conversation, I finally asked him about what had taken place over the past year.

"I'll tell the story, if it's not too late fer you?" he said, and he stood to gather another bottle when I shook my head. "This tale calls fer more than wine," he said, pouring us each a measure of rum.

I had no idea what time it might have been when he finished the story of the Battle of the Maelstrom, but I knew he'd been talking and answering all my questions for near to two hours, and in that time I'd managed to drink considerably more rum than I had a right to. I was leaning my head on my hand where my elbow rested on the table, feeling content and a bit sleepy when he finished speaking and watched me trying to keep my eyes open across from him.

He stood and offered me his hand, knowing that I'd consumed a lot more alcohol than I was probably used to or even aware of.

"'Tis late," he said, helping me stand and holding me steady when my coordination proved to be somewhat compromised. I couldn't help but giggle a little when I staggered a couple of steps, and he slid an arm around me, keeping me from veering too far off balance.

He tried to guide me to the bedchamber, but despite his best efforts I still managed to collide with the doorframe, rebounding and giggling again, and he shook his head and placed a hand on each shoulder, seeing to it that I didn't injure myself as he steered me forward. "Ye'd best stick with wine from now on, lass," he said, amused at my helpless giddy state.

Of course I giggled more at his comment, sniggering involuntarily and then covering my mouth with my hand in amused horror at doing so. Barbossa was shaking his head and chuckling at me, and it made everything even funnier.

I laughed harder, managing to issue a most unladylike snort at one point, horrifying myself again. "Damn!" I swore at my own behavior, and then instantly clamped both hands over my mouth in response to the fact that I'd sworn out loud, and then fell into a fit of drunken giggling, nearly falling onto the bed as I did so.

"Easy, lass," Barbossa said gently, keeping me on my feet and appearing completely amused at my plight. "We'd best get you out of that dress..."

He never got a chance to finish his statement as I nodded in inebriated agreement, still giggling a little, and wasted no time unbuttoning the front of my bodice in my uninhibited state. Barbossa, deciding to play things safe after causing so much trouble with his voyeuristic faux pas of the previous evening, immediately let go of me and turned about, determined to give me some small amount of privacy.

Unfortunately, with the profound lack of coordination that plagued me at that moment, I managed to only peel my dress off half way before I staggered again without his stabilizing hold on me, and suddenly found myself once more abruptly on my rump on the floor, giggling hysterically and half undressed.

"Everythin' alright?" he asked, not daring to risk a glance back my way.

I nodded while I giggled and started removing more of my dress where I sat, without the thought sinking into my rum infused brain that he wouldn't know I'd nodded since he wasn't looking at me. I'd say the fact that I was still in amused hysterics behind him on the floor let him know I wasn't injured.

The lavender nightgown I'd worn the night before was draped over the trunk behind me, but I knew I was never going to be able to reach it from where I sat, and that I wasn't going to be able to get to my feet to cross the short distance on my own, so I opted for an alternative, which was to finish, quite ungracefully I might add, peeling my dress off, and then crawling on my hands and knees to retrieve the nightgown.

To give him all the credit he earned that night, Barbossa never once turned around, but that didn't keep him from commenting where he stood with his back turned. He'd been listening to what was going on and finally spoke, laughing a bit as he did so. "I'd give anything if I'd not had Gibbs take down that mirror," he said. "God only knows what ye'd be doin', but I'll wager it's naught that a proper lady would want to be caught dead at."

Of course, I found his statement entirely amusing, and I continued to chortle as I plunked myself on my rear next to the trunk and dragged the nightgown over my head. Once I'd managed to cover most of myself, I realized I couldn't get up. "Hector?"

"Aye?" he asked.

"Help."

He glanced at where I sat propped up against the trunk, and then crossed to kneel next to me. "Remind me not to let yeh have more'n a glass of rum, especially if ye've had half a bottle of wine already."

"Alright."

He rolled his eyes at me a little, and helped me to my feet, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to steady myself, finding it quite pleasant to be that close to him. I was too intoxicated to give much thought to the way he stiffened when I embraced him, and then started unconsciously nuzzling into his neck.

"Merda!" he swore quietly, gently prying me away. "Ye'd be worse'n I thought." He bent a little and swept an arm behind my knees, lifting me briefly –just long enough to turn and deposit me on the bed.

I gasped when he lifted me, and wrapped my arms around his neck again, pulling him closer after he set me down, and I surprised both of us when I reached up and planted a small kiss on the corner of his mouth and then gazed at him somewhat expectantly.

I know he struggled with what he should do, and I will always think more of him for what he decided that moment. Pirate or no, he decided that taking advantage of my intoxicated and oh- so- compliant state was not the right thing to do.

"Madeline," he said, reaching to loosen my arms from his neck, "not tonight."

Disappointed at his apparent rejection and under the effects of the full amount of alcohol that I'd consumed, I pouted a little and whispered plaintively to him. "Don't you want me?"

"Whether I do or don't has naught to do with this, lass. Ye'd be drunk and not knowin' what yer sayin'," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Not that I've been opposed to a bit 'o rum influencin' a woman's decisions fer the evenin' at times," he said wryly, trying to light things back up, "but I'll not have ye facin' me tomorrow with regret in yer eyes."

Before I could protest that he was wrong, he drove the point home brutally. "Yer promised to yer lieutenant, are ye not?"

As inebriated as I was, I heard the pain in his voice, and the extreme giddiness of a few minutes earlier fell away into intoxicated angst as I began to cry. "I didn't know," I whispered unevenly, rapidly falling apart. "Hector, I didn't know," I sobbed miserably.

"Shhh, easy, lass," he said, running his thumb across my cheek to wipe away a tear. "What didn't ye know?"

I couldn't answer him, as distraught as I was, and I felt myself panicking for reasons I couldn't really explain when he stood up from the edge of the bed.

"Don't go!" I cried. "Don't leave me."

"I'll not leave," he replied, and I waited while he kicked off his boots and pulled off his own shirt, and climbed onto the other side of the bed. "Here," he whispered, reaching for me, and I found myself in his arms, sobbing against his chest as he held me.

When I calmed down after a minute, he spoke again where he'd been stroking my hair. "What is it ye didn't know, May?"

"That you were alive," I said, clinging to him tightly. "I wouldn't have..."

He silenced me with a finger on my lips, and shook his head with a sad smile. "What's done be done, lass," he whispered, sounding tired and defeated, but he held onto me for the rest of the night, long after I'd cried myself to sleep, and whether it was for my benefit or his, I couldn't rightly say.

~o~

Mothers of the Caribbean is up and running with the first two chapters. The first chapter is a lovely one by hurricane1714 about AnaMaria's mum, and the second one is my own contribution about Barbossa's mum. Pop on over and read them and be sure to watch for upcoming chapters!

.net/s/4845090/1/Mothers_of_the_Caribbean


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven **

~o~

_Disappointed at his apparent rejection and under the effects of the full amount of alcohol that I'd consumed, I pouted a little and whispered plaintively to him. "Don't you want me?"_

_"Whether I do or don't has naught to do with this, lass. Ye'd be drunk and not knowin' what yer sayin'," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Not that I've been opposed to a bit 'o rum influencin' a woman's decisions fer the evenin' at times," he said wryly, trying to light things back up, "but I'll not have ye facin' me tomorrow with regret in yer eyes."_

_Before I could protest that he was wrong, he drove the point home brutally. "Yer promised to yer lieutenant, are ye not?"_

_As inebriated as I was, I heard the pain in his voice, and the extreme giddiness of a few minutes earlier fell away into intoxicated angst as I began to cry. "I didn't know," I whispered unevenly, rapidly falling apart. "Hector, I didn't know," I sobbed miserably._

_"Shhh, easy, lass," he said, running his thumb across my cheek to wipe away a tear. "What didn't ye know?"_

_I couldn't answer him, as distraught as I was, and I felt myself panicking for reasons I couldn't really explain when he stood up from the edge of the bed._

_"Don't go!" I cried. "Don't leave me."_

_"I'll not leave," he replied, and I waited while he kicked off his boots and pulled off his own shirt, and climbed onto the other side of the bed. "Here," he whispered, reaching for me, and I found myself in his arms, sobbing against his chest as he held me._

_When I calmed down after a minute, he spoke again where he'd been stroking my hair. "What is it ye didn't know, May?"_

_"That you were alive," I said, clinging to him tightly. "I wouldn't have..."_

_He silenced me with a finger on my lips, and shook his head with a sad smile. "What's done be done, lass," he whispered, sounding tired and defeated, but he held onto me for the rest of the night, long after I'd cried myself to sleep, and whether it was for my benefit or his, I couldn't rightly say._

~o~

For the second morning in a row, I woke up with a headache and feeling nauseated, although it was from my own stupidity rather than seasickness the second time around.

Once again, Barbossa had dressed and slipped out before I'd awoken, and I was left to lie there in bed with only vague recollections of what we'd spoken of and what might have transpired.

Although he in no way blamed me for the fact that I'd gotten engaged in the previous few months to Jonathan, once I knew him to be dead, that didn't mean he was happy about the fact. He'd been through hell and back, figuratively, and I feared, literally, and finding out that the woman he'd desired to be with was promised to another did nothing to improve his mood.

On deck his manner was cool toward me for the entire next day, and he said nothing of what had transpired in his cabin the night before, but it was his crew who truly suffered the brunt of his displaced anger and frustration, which although irrational, was probably more accurately directed at my fiancée.

Accustomed to Barbossa's moods and intolerance for incompetence, the crew scattered faster than usual when something went awry, hoping not to end up on the receiving end of his anger.

As for me, I didn't recall quite everything that was said the night before, and whether or not that was a curse or a blessing, it would be difficult to say for certain. At first I spent time wondering how, after two days, I could be falling in love with the man I hadn't seen in over a decade, but it didn't take me long to recognize the fact that I'd never really stopped being in love with him over the years.

The problem was that I loved Jonathan too, or at least I'd thought I did until Barbossa had swept back into my life like a rogue wave himself, dragging me helplessly along where he went, unable to fight the tide of emotions that were welling back up inside me.

I knew the best thing for all three of us was to do exactly as he'd said, and get word to Jonathan as soon as possible to try to resolve the problem I'd created for myself by being the instrument of Barbossa's narrow escape from Port Royal. The sooner I got off the _Black Pearl_, the sooner we could all get back to our lives.

I ventured out on deck that morning, after forcing myself to eat something, and seeing no sign of Barbossa, surmised that he'd gone below with Gibbs to take stock of exactly what the haul was from the _Essex_. Pirates on deck shot me questioning glances, and a fair number of them were less than friendly. I'd been through that type of scrutiny before, but at least the second time around I knew more of what to expect, and that I had the luxury of knowing I had nothing to fear from Barbossa.

~o~

While the original crew of the _Black Pearl_ were quite used to the idea of having a woman around by then, having sailed with Elizabeth and seeing her prove her worth as a pirate, and accepted me for the time, at least because any of them feared to invoke the captain's displeasure, it took a bit longer for the newer recruits to warm up to the concept.

Most of them just shrugged it off or muttered about it under their breath, and if all of them had handled the situation the same way, nothing more would have come from it. Unfortunately, several of the newer pirates got the idea into their heads that having a woman on a pirate ship meant I was there for one thing only, and that morning I found myself on deck in the company of Grogan, one of the _Pearl's_ newest recruits.

I thought nothing of it at first when the redheaded pirate spoke to me pleasantly, especially as there were a fair number of crewmembers standing around on deck, conversing with Marty about adventures he'd had with Jack Sparrow.

I was paying more attention to Marty, thinking that his idolization of Jack would not please Barbossa, when it became apparent that Grogan had definitely invaded my personal space. When I looked back at him, he stood there smiling, and I didn't think it was a pleasant smile at all.

"Mornin', luv," he said. "You busy at th' moment?"

"At the moment?" I asked. "No. Is there something you need, ?"

"Aye, there is at that," he said, stepping even closer to me, "an' since yeh be free at th'moment, perhaps…..well, you know."

"Know _what_, Mr. Grogan?" I asked, even though it was clear that he thought there was something I could be doing for him in my free time. "Is there some medical problem you need my assistance with?"

He nodded. "Doctorin' be what I need. I'm feelin' mighty under the weather, an' I think yeh might 'ave a way to help."

The leer that was crossing his face confirmed my suspicions that he was up to no good even as he continued. "Matter o' fact, there be _two_ ways t' start," he said, making it a point to glance blatantly at my chest.

I know that I was apprehensive about him being that close to me, but mostly I felt sorry for him, knowing so well, what he apparently didn't. Barbossa had come back on deck by then and was standing with his arms folded across his chest, monitoring the situation.

"You'd best step away, Mr. Grogan," I said, as evenly as I could.

"Oh, come now, luv," he said with a laugh, stepping closer, placing one hand on my waist and thinking to cop a feel as he closed the distance, "don't play 'ard to get."

There was a loud _CRACK_ and his head jerked sideways as I jumped, and he continued to leer at me blankly even as he fell away with a stream of blood pouring from the hole in his temple, and hit the deck hard with a _thud_.

I looked, horrified, at where Barbossa was sticking his pistol back in the sash at his waist, at the same time turning to address the group surrounding Marty that had gone silent, staring across the wary faces for a moment.

"Any questions?" he asked, and was answered with a dozen heads shaking their silent negation.

"Good. Clean that mess up," he growled, jerking his head toward Grogan's body and then walking away toward his cabin.

Needless to say, I had no issues with such harassment from any of the remaining crew, and Grogan was disposed of in very short order.

~o~

To say the least, it is a little unsettling to have a bodyguard who is a possessive, overprotective Pirate Lord, and I wasn't sure just how I felt about the fact that Grogan had been instantly sentenced to the Locker for his infraction of the rules. I realized that I probably should have felt worse than I did, but after my experience on the previous voyage with the vicious man who gave me the scars I still carried, I suppose I was mostly relieved that I wouldn't have to worry about Grogan in the future.

The rest of the day I spent rather aimlessly wandering throughout the _Black Pearl_, getting to know the layout of the ship, and conversing with a few of her crew. Gibbs must have felt sorry for me at one point late in the afternoon, when I'd finally wandered back on deck, bored and lonely, and he came to speak with me. Although I know he didn't particularly care to risk the bad luck of having a woman on board the ship, he was smart enough to know that it was worse luck to question Barbossa's judgment in the matter.

"She's a beaut' ain't she?" he asked me cordially, coming to stand near me where I'd been gazing up at the masts, hand shading my eyes against the late afternoon sun of the Caribbean.

"I suppose she is," I said in reply. Although I could admire the aesthetics and the power of the infamous ship, I still harbored ill feelings toward her for currently being my prison.

"Quite the lady, she is," Gibbs continued. "Fastest ship in the Caribbean, rugged, beautiful, notorious throughout the seven seas, and captained by two of the most infamous pirates t' ever walk the deck of a sailin' ship."

"And where is her second infamous captain?" I asked curiously.

"Couldn't rightly say," Gibbs replied, and whether he really didn't know, or was electing not to say, I wasn't sure.

"Last I saw 'im, it was in Tortuga," Gibbs continued. "He'd commandeered himself a boat after Barbossa took the _Pearl_ again…"

"Barbossa _stole_ the _Pearl_ again?" I asked, trying hard not to let any of my amusement creep into my voice.

"Aye," Gibbs replied, "but it weren't the last word in the matter. Jack 'as somethin' he wants, and I wager it'll make fer interestin' conversation the next those two meet."

He went on to explain how Barbossa had taken the _Pearl_, only to find out that Jack had stolen the critical part of the map to World's End and other places. Gibbs had been in Tortuga still when the _Pearl_ had doubled back to look for Jack, and although Jack had disappeared already, Barbossa had found Gibbs and persuaded him to return to the _Pearl's_ crew.

"Persuaded here, havin' the meanin' of a pistol bein' pointed at my head," Gibbs finished.

"So, you're here against your will?" I asked, knowing entirely what that could be like.

"Not really. Nothin' better to do, I s'pose. Barbossa's a fair enough cap'n. Sees to it that work and reward are divided as they should be –doesn't play favorites. If'n yeh stay out o' his way, he stay's out o' yours. I wouldn't want to be the one to cross 'im, though." Gibbs glanced uneasily over the side where the unfortunate Grogan had been deposited that morning.

"But there's no finer ship'n the _Pearl_, lass," he said, a bit more cheerfully. "I've not known a tougher ol' seadog or finer navigator in all my life, and as yeh saw yesterday, we have more'n a fair bit 'o success with the combination of the two."

"Course I reckon you know a fair bit 'bout sailin' with Barbossa," Gibbs went on after a minute.

I gave him a questioning glance, and he smiled warmly. "No secrets on a pirate ship, Doctor, aye?" he said.

I sighed and smiled back, resigned to the fact that most likely the crew knew as much about my business as I did. "I suppose you're right, Mr. Gibbs."

"Well," Gibbs said at last, "I'd best be back to work." He headed across the deck, leaving me feeling alone once again, despite the fact that the ship was swarming with busy pirates.

By the time it began to get dark, and the crew began gathering for dinner, I still hadn't seen hide or hair of Barbossa, and I remained at a loss as to what I should do. Irritated to some degree that he'd left me to fend for myself, I determined that I would not go to seek him in his cabin, but would make due on my own.

When Gibbs brought along a second plate of food for me, I gave him a grateful smile, and sat myself down on a barrel next to him, and conversed over the meal with some of the _Pearl's_ crew. As before, the pirates were curious about the fact that I was a woman doctor, and I found myself being interrogated as they tried to determine the extent of my medical knowledge. Finally satisfied that I was the genuine article, the conversation turned to stories of the events of the past year that I'd head about from Barbossa the evening before.

It was when Gibbs and Marty were re-telling the story of the destruction of the _Endeavor_ and the demise of Cutler Beckett that I found myself growing upset, and I finally excused myself and went to stand near the bow, away from the group gathered on deck.

Despite the fact that I had been no fan of Cutler's, I still was unsettled at the recollection of having to identify his charred remains for his brother, and upset even more about the thought that my dear Jonathan had come so close to perishing aboard the ill-fated ship.

At that point my thoughts stayed on the subject of Jonathan, and I wondered what he was doing, and how he'd reacted to the news that Charles Beckett had likely delivered –that his very fiancée was a pirate supporter, and was the reason that one of the most notorious rogues in the Caribbean had slipped through the navy's fingers.

As well as I knew him, I was certain that he'd forgive me. Knowing me as well as he did, he probably knew that I couldn't bear the thought of anyone being killed, and had done whatever I could to preserve life, as was my wont. The hardest part for him to deal with was going to be coming to grips with just _who_ it was that I'd gone out of my way to preserve, and that thought brought me back to a conversation he and I had had just before he'd left for his fateful voyage aboard the _Endeavor_.

~o~

We'd been engaged for a week, and had been congratulated by everyone we knew in town. Mrs. Healy had sent me a small bouquet of mixed flowers in way of congratulating me herself, and Mr. Cook, the wine merchant, from whom I'd successfully removed a large urinary bladder stone, sent me two bottles of fine red wine; one, he'd said, to be drunk immediately, and one to be saved for our wedding night.

I served the bottle of wine the night before Jonathan was to leave, having made an elegant dinner and dessert to celebrate our betrothal, as well as to give him a bit of an encouraging and optimistic sendoff. We'd done our best to speak of anything else but the mission he was about to embark on, as neither of us wanted to face the fact that it was going to be such a dangerous one.

Jonathan pushed back his chair from the table a bit at last, groaning and complaining pleasantly that he was too full to move and would likely miss his ship in the morning because he'd eaten too much.

I will admit that I am a rather good cook, having been required to take over that duty and provide meals for all the men in my house after my mother had died, and having learned a good deal about preparing French cuisine when I studied with Monsieur Dumond in France. I will also admit to experiencing the rather petty feelings of having to compete with the late Mrs. Groves, who was also an excellent cook, and each time I'd prepared a meal for Jonathan, I went out of my way to painstakingly create something fabulous. For this particular meal I made it a point to serve an apple pie for dessert, which I must add, was _not_ at all burned.

After dinner we'd retired to my small but cozy living room, and sat together on the couch, bringing our glasses with the last of the fine wine that Mr. Cook had sent along with us. I'd sat down right next to Jonathan, and leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder and, after a moment, he slipped his arm around me.

I smiled when I thought back on it. Such behavior would have been deemed inappropriate in most circumstances, but since my profession and my extended single lifestyle had previously not conformed to the norm in either England or Port Royal, and I lived alone without family or chaperone, I must say I really didn't fret much about what others might think.

Jonathan leaned over and kissed me, another thing that we couldn't have gotten away with without a measure of scandal if I didn't live alone. "Thank you for putting so much effort into that meal, Madeline. It was wonderful."

"You are quite welcome, Lieutenant," I replied playfully. " I hope it shall see you through naval rations until you return."

He groaned and let his head fall back against the couch, lamenting that fact.

"How was the pie?" I asked, snuggling closer in next to him.

"Quite unburned," he replied meaningfully. "You need to stop worrying about Amelia."

I tried to keep my tone light and innocent. "Why would I be worried about Amelia?"

"You, my dear Madeline," he said, raising his head back up and pulling me against him, "keep concerning yourself that I compare the two of you in some way, and you need to stop it." He kissed me briefly before going on. "Amelia was a very important part of my past, and you are the most important part of my future. I don't compare you to her memory at all, so stop doing it yourself."

His scolding was earnest but a bit playful in manner and I finally relented and told him I'd stop worrying so much about it.

"Good," he said, "in that case the pie was the best I've ever had."

I smiled broadly and flung my arms around his neck in an enthusiastic embrace.

"I love you, Madeline," he said as I pulled back a little.

"And I love you...what?" I'd seen the way he was suddenly looking at me, and I wondered if something was amiss.

"Nothing, it's just that I miss you already," he said, stroking my hair. "You look so beautiful in the firelight...it's not right to ask a man to leave such a vision and head out to the harsh cold sea."

"I thought you loved the sea?" I asked, letting him draw me in.

"Tomorrow I won't," he whispered, and then he kissed me very tenderly.

~o~


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve **

~o~

_"Good," he said, "in that case the pie was the best I've ever had."_

_I smiled broadly and flung my arms around his neck in an enthusiastic embrace._

_"I love you, Madeline," he said as I pulled back a little._

_"And I love you...what?" I'd seen the way he was suddenly looking at me, and I wondered if something was amiss._

_"Nothing, it's just that I miss you already," he said, stroking my hair. "You look so beautiful in the firelight...it's not right to ask a man to leave such a vision and head out to the harsh cold sea."_

_"I thought you loved the sea?" I asked, letting him draw me in._

_"Tomorrow I won't," he whispered, and then he kissed me very tenderly._

~o~

My thoughts of the night before Jonathan left were interrupted by a bit of rowdy laughter from further back across the ship. I hadn't heard or been paying much attention to what was being discussed by the crew that remained on deck.

It was getting late, and I recalled that I'd been thinking the same thing when I'd sat on the couch with Jonathan that night, kissing him back more and more fervently as the time for him to leave drew ever nearer.

Things on my small couch were becoming somewhat more heated and more passionate, and I confess that I didn't mind in the least. While I had kissed Jonathan plenty of times when we'd been out riding or alone together in his house or mine, my dear Lieutenant Groves had, for the most part, done his best to keep to what was considered proper. He kept a tight rein on things, so to speak, taking his leave in the evenings at an appropriate time and refraining from letting brief intimate moments get out of control.

The week I'd formally become engaged to him however, Jonathan seemed content to let things progress a little further than they had, seeming to believe that engagement somehow extended to us a bending of the rules. I found myself soon clinging to him desperately, and being leaned backwards on the couch as he broke away from a particularly passionate kiss and began kissing my neck.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed every second, letting the tiniest gasp of pleasure escape. To make a long story short, things progressed from there to the point where Jonathan had surrendered his waistcoat and his shirt hung undone, and I was standing with him next to the couch, kissing him while I led him, backing away one step at a time, toward my bedchamber.

When he realized that we had nearly made it to my bedroom door, he sobered instantly and started to pull away, looking rather flustered. "It's late," he said, trying to diffuse the situation, "and I should really go." I closed in again, and he relented, kissing me for another long moment before he withdrew once more. "This can't lead to anything good," he whispered gently.

I snuggled in against him and kissed his neck a little. "I think it might lead to something very good," I whispered back a bit boldly.

"Madeline Gray!" he said, partly amused, partly enticed, and partly appalled. "What would people think if they heard you say such things?"

"I hadn't really planned on telling that to anyone but you," I teased, undoing another button on his shirt.

"Madeline, stop," he said gently, trying to catch up my hands. "You're making it very difficult to resist temptation."

"Then don't," I whispered back, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily. He nearly gave in at that moment, and followed me to the side of my bed, but when I'd managed to slip out of my dress and stand before him in nothing but the chemise I'd worn underneath, he suddenly changed his mind.

"This isn't right, Madeline," he whispered, catching me up in an affectionate but passionless embrace. "We should wait until our wedding night."

"It's only a month and a half away," I protested.

"Then it shouldn't be difficult for us to wait just a little longer," he scolded me, kissing me on my forehead.

I recall being just a bit irritated with him for his comment. While he'd been happily married for most of the time I'd known him, and had been without the benefits of a physical relationship for a little over two years, it had been well over ten since I'd been with a man, and as far as my body was concerned at that moment, the physical aspect of a relationship was well past due.

Of course that thought dredged up memories of the man that I'd last been with, as well as the one passionate, intense night I'd spent in his arms, and those thoughts rapidly cooled my ardor at the moment while I was still being held by Jonathan.

"I suppose you're right," I conceded softly.

"Of course, I'm right," he said, stoking my hair affectionately, and kissing my cheek.

"What if you don't come back?" I asked, momentarily throwing him off balance emotionally. "What if we were never together, and you don't come back?"

He could tell that I was getting upset from worry about him, but he didn't know that I lamented still the fact that I'd previously been abandoned after only ever having one night with my pirate.

"Don't be silly," he teased, trying to make me worry less. "Of course I'll be back, and then we'll be married and we'll be together the way we'd both like."

I have to admit that I admired his willpower.

"Besides," he said tenderly, holding me close and whispering in my ear, "you'd not really wish for me to act the cad and spoil you before our wedding, now would you?"

"What?" I asked, swallowing hard.

"You've waited this long to be married, surely you can wait less than two more months?" he asked sweetly.

While I was entirely enchanted by the fact that my darling Lieutenant Groves had so much faith in me that he'd thought I'd clung to my maidenly virtue well beyond when most women were married and had three or four children, I realized that I had a confession for him that I didn't feel right in keeping from the man who was going to be my husband.

With all last shreds of ardor abandoned, I sat down and patted the edge of the bed next to me. "Sit," I ordered gently. "We need to talk."

"What is it?" he asked, sitting next to me and taking my hand in his.

"Jonathan," I began as I tried to figure out just how I was going to break the news to him, " I think that there should be no secrets between a husband and a wife, don't you?"

"Of course," he replied, looking puzzled.

"Well, I'm afraid that I have a confession that you're not going to be terribly fond of," I said.

"Oh." He grew quiet, and I knew he knew what I was about to say. "You aren't...that is to say that you've...oh dear." He struggled with how he should feel about the fact that his bride to be was confessing to not being a virgin, and stoically bore the news with all the dignity he could muster.

"Well, I understand...by your age...not that you're old...just older...that is...oh God, I'm making a mess of this." He buried his face in his hands for a minute while I waited for him to deal with the news, and after a moment he raised his head and reached for me, pulling me against him and hugging me fiercely. "It isn't important," he said. "I love you anyway, and that won't change just because you've been with another man."

"Three," I said quietly, since I was on a roll and decided that I might as well be completely honest.

"Three?" he croaked.

"Yes."

He was silent again for a minute or two. "Alright, so it's three. That's...well...fine. It doesn't matter. Three's not so many. Fine. Three. Right."

"All men I cared a great deal for," I added, trying to soften the blow.

He smiled at me and sighed. "Of course they were, Madeline. I never would have thought anything else. You're a fine upstanding lady, and any man whom you wished to bestow your affections upon must consider himself very lucky."

"Thank you for understanding, Jonathan," I said, relieved.

"No matter," he said, waving me off a little. "It really doesn't matter to me if you've had other important men in your life, as long as I'm the most important one now."

"Of course you are," I said, holding his hand tightly, and looking very concerned. "I'm glad you don't think me wicked."

He shook his head and smiled. "Don't look like that, Madeline, I won't give it another thought. I mean, it's not like you were off hailing sailors at the docks or tumbling in some pirate's bunk."

I decided at that moment that complete and total honesty was no longer the best policy, and said absolutely nothing more on the subject.

~o~

The slightly uneven step on the deck behind me told me the man that was involved in the memories I'd just been contemplating was approaching, and I wasn't surprised when I heard him speak.

"Three shillin's fer yer thoughts, Miss Gray," he said pleasantly, coming to stand at the rail next to me.

I let go a deep sigh. "I'm afraid it would take a lot more than three shillings to pry my current thoughts from me, Captain Barbossa," I said back in the same manner. I had no desire to impart to him that I'd been lost in my thoughts about my discussion about intimacy with Jonathan.

"I see," he said, regarding me thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, in that case, I came to tell you that the lads have found space fer you and moved yer trunk of clothes. Ye'll not have to put up with me fer another night."

While on the surface his manner seemed cordial and pleasant, I caught the slightest bite in his words that seemed to indicate some manner of irritation on his part, and I found myself trying to dispel his annoyance.

"I would hardly call it 'putting up with you', Hector," I replied warmly, addressing him less formally. "You've managed to look out for me quite handsomely since I set foot on your ship, including seeing to it that I didn't get into trouble in my, well..._compromised_ condition last night." I know my manner was a bit sheepish while I admitted that I was aware of the fact that I'd accidentally had enough alcohol that I didn't remember the entirety of the night before.

Barbossa couldn't help but smirk at that point, and I can't rightly say as I blamed him. "I find ye quite entertainin' when yer intoxicated, Doctor," he said, "and it's somethin' I'd not be opposed to seein' again."

"Yes, well, I don't think there's much chance of that," I said, smiling and meaning simply that I didn't plan on overindulging like that again, in his presence or otherwise, anytime soon. Unfortunately, he misinterpreted my statement as meaning that it was unlikely since I'd be leaving the _Black Pearl_ as soon as was feasible, and his manner became stiff and aloof.

"Well, I'll bid ye goodnight," he said abruptly, making as if to walk past me.

My hand was on his arm before I even realized I was going to reach for him. "Did I say something to offend you?" I asked in a manner that I am sure told him I was genuinely afraid that I had.

"No," was all he said as he glanced down at my hand on his wrist.

"Sorry," I said, thinking him to be irritated at me for taking hold of his arm. "Would you mind showing me where I'm to stay?"

"If ye'd like," he said coolly, still looking at where my hand was resting.

I removed it. "Yes, if you would."

I followed him dutifully below, neither of us speaking, to a small space within which I might have some semblance of greater privacy while I remained on the ship.

"This'll do?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied, giving him a warm smile. "Thank you for arranging this for me."

"'Tis the least I can do," he said, turning to leave, and I had the impression he would have walked away without saying anything else had I not spoken.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"Fer what, Madeline?" he asked from where he stood at the door with his back to me.

"For whatever it is I've done. It seems as though you're mad at me for something," I replied.

He turned to look at me. "Why would I be mad at you?"

I shrugged, since that was precisely what I didn't know.

"And why would ye care if I were?" he continued, coming a bit closer.

"You make it sound as if I don't care how you feel," I said back.

"Do ye?" he asked, not as casually as I think he would have liked.

"Of course, " I said, looking up to meet the steely blue gaze.

"I'd wager ye'd know not how I feel," he said softly, reaching out to take up a handful of my hair and gazing at it.

"Why don't you tell me?" I asked, not believing the words I was letting escape my own lips.

He let a wan smile cross his face as he let my hair slip slowly through his fingers. "Would that I could, lass," he whispered without meeting my eyes, and then he turned and left me alone.

I sat down on the edge of the bed that had been provided for my use, completely frustrated and confused. One wouldn't need to know Barbossa as well as I did in order to hear the pain in his last words before he left, and one probably needn't know me very well at all to understand that I was pained as well.

I sat there, torn between how I felt toward the man who had just left, and the duty I felt toward the man I'd recently abandoned. I told myself that I would sleep on the matter and revisit the issue after a good night's rest, even as I found myself climbing the companionway stairs. I was being plagued on all sides by a conflicting whirlwind of emotions, but foremost in my mind was the desire to know how he felt, and I determined that I did in fact, have the courage to ask him.

I knocked several times on the cabin doors, with no answer from within. Thinking that he'd chosen to ignore me, I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts for it to occur to me that he hadn't gone to his cabin. Thwarted, I huffed a bit to myself, and turned abruptly to nearly run into Barbossa, who had come up behind me, and he reached out and grabbed me by the arms gently to keep us from colliding.

I started to explain why it was that I'd been knocking on his door, when he took a step toward me, hands still on my arms, causing me to reverse one step until I felt the hard wood at my back. The next thing I knew, I was caught between Barbossa and the doors, and his mouth was pressed over mine in a deep kiss.

More surprising to me still, was the fact that I didn't resist, and after a second or two, found myself responding in kind, and I admit to being more than a little breathless when he withdrew after a moment. "What was that?" I asked softly, still pinned gently but firmly by him against the door.

"The answer to the question ye came to ask of me," he said, his manner a bit cocky and the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"That's quite some answer," I replied, trying desperately to make light of the intense moment as he released me and reached past me to pull open the door. He indicated that I should step inside, which I did a bit hesitantly.

He shut the door and turned toward me again as I started to speak. "I'm not sure that was such a good idea..."

His mouth over mine as he drew me in silenced me momentarily, and once again I responded to him in earnest, eventually sliding my arms around his neck.

I was on the verge of losing myself in his embrace, when the thought that I was a woman betrothed to someone else picked that time to inconveniently rear it's complicating head, and I found myself releasing my grasp and trying to backpedal as I gently fought to disengage myself from the kiss.

"Hector, stop," I whispered, trying to get his attention.

"If ye meant it, I would," he replied, tightening his grip and pressing his mouth over mine hungrily once more.

I retreated again. "Hector, please," I whispered desperately. "I can't."

"Ah, but we both know ye can," he whispered in my ear, pulling me against him again.

"I can't," I replied more sternly, getting his attention at last, "and I won't. Don't ask me to compromise myself like this. I won't dishonor the promise I made."

"Isn't it what ye wish?" he asked, sounding vulnerable for one of the few moments that I had ever known him.

"Regardless, I won't..."

"That's not what I asked. Do you wish it or not, woman?" he asked, frustrated, and he let go of me.

Frustrated myself by the emotional turbulence I'd been through for the previous three days, I grew irritated and snapped back at him. "Yes, I wish it! I wished it for over ten years, Hector! Where were you while I wished to be with you for all that time?" I demanded senselessly.

A storm gathered behind the intense blue gaze. "You mean while you were playin' doctor and goin' to fancy dinner parties, and ridin' yer expensive horse, and bein' courted by officers of His Majesty's navy? All that time?" he asked bitterly.

Furious, I said nothing back.

"I was in Hell," he continued, advancing on me menacingly and grabbing me by the arms again, although in a less than romantically inclined way, "or hadn't ye heard?"

"You could have told me!" I snapped back, not thinking about what I was saying before the words were out of my mouth.

"Do ye listen to nothin' I say to you, girl?" he demanded, still advancing while I backed away. "Dozens of letters I sent, tellin' ye what had transpired, where I was, what I was doin'. I poured what was left of me wretched heart an' soul into them!"

"I never..."

"I know!" he shouted, stopping in his tracks only when he had me cornered near the windows of the cabin. "Is that my fault?"

Unwilling to relent, despite the fact that he loomed over me, I snapped back with words formed out of pain and angst. "You could have come to see me!"

"Oh, perhaps visited fer a little moonlight stroll in yer garden, aye?" he snarled fiercely, his face an inch or two from mine. "How much would ye have wanted me then?"

He was beginning to scare me, and I heard my own voice let go of my frustration and replace it with concern. "Hector, the curse wouldn't have mattered to me."

"It wouldn't?" he asked, nearly ranting. "Think yer sure, don't ye?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but gasped instead as he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the cabin door. "You're hurting me," I whimpered, trying to pry his fingers from my arm. He responded by loosening his grip slightly, but not enough that I might be able to free myself.

"Where are we going?" I asked, fear of the madness that had apparently replaced his reason in my voice as he dragged me out on deck.

He no longer yelled, but the anger that still blazed in his eyes did nothing to dispel my anxiety, and I worried for an instant that I might be about to find myself going for another swim.

"I've somethin' to show ye," he said in a deadly whisper, and then he turned and called across the deck for Jack.

~o~

**A/N:** Apologies for the longer time between updates. Things got thrown out of whack with the three days that ffnet was down this week, but I should be back on track now!

Thanks as usual go to FreedomOftheSeas for taking time to beta-read chapters and offer her opinions before I do the final tweaking and post them!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen **

~o~

_"Where are we going?" I asked, fear of the madness that had apparently replaced his reason in my voice as he dragged me out on deck._

_He no longer yelled, but the anger that still blazed in his eyes did nothing to dispel my anxiety, and I worried for an instant that I might be about to find myself going for another swim._

_"I've somethin' to show ye," he said in a deadly whisper, and then he turned and called across the deck for Jack._

~o~

I had no idea what was going through Barbossa's mind as he dragged me across the _Black Pearl_, glancing up into the rigging and calling for Jack several times. The crew members that were present on deck seemed to know that something had seriously vexed their captain, and they scattered like mice, not wanting to be caught up in Barbossa's rampage.

I'd given up trying to pry his fingers from my arm and stopped resisting his pull, and we made it to the vicinity of the mainmast before Jack finally appeared, gazing down curiously at his master.

What I didn't know, as I'd only encountered Jack once to that point, in the confines of Barbossa's cabin during the daylight hours, was that Jack still bore the curse of the Aztec gold. I would learn later that he had re-taken a coin after his master's demise, and that the coin was hidden somewhere on the _Black Pearl_, unable to be located despite the crew spending countless hours seeking where the simian pack rat had hidden it.

Barbossa softened his voice, although it wasn't directed at me. "Come, Jack," he coaxed, holding out his arm where we stood in the shadow of the mast.

Jack tipped his head to one side, contemplating my proximity to Barbossa, apparently thinking things over, and then at last complied with the request and scampered down the mast to hop onto Barbossa's arm.

Barbossa said nothing, but met my gaze with his own furious one, and then dragged me a couple of steps aside of the mast, closer to where the moonlight shown upon the deck. "What say ye, now, Doctor?" he asked in a low hiss of a whisper, and he thrust the arm holding Jack into the moonlight as he tightened his grip on my arm again.

I gasped, reflexively clutching at Barbossa's arm, and Jack screeched at me for touching his master and sprang to a higher perch. Bathed in moonlight where he'd leaped to Barbossa's shoulder, Jack was a snarling, ragged nightmare of the little monkey that I'd met in the cabin. With patches of not only fur, but flesh missing as well, his skeletal visage stared angrily at me as he continued to screech agitatedly.

I took an unsteady step backwards, my mouth open in horror. Although I didn't know at that moment why I was seeing what I was seeing, I knew I was witnessing the effects of the Aztec curse I'd been told about, and as horrible as the effects of the curse appeared to be on the monkey, the thoughts of what it had done to the man before me started to sink in.

Barbossa spoke only one word. "Go," he said softly, speaking to Jack as he let go of me and brushed the animal gently from his shoulder. He watched me steadily and a bit warily as I struggled with the implications of what I'd just seen, waiting to see if I would shrink from him or stay.

While I had thought I comprehended the nature of the curse when I'd been told about it by Elizabeth, I wasn't prepared for seeing it in reality. I gained a much clearer understanding in that single moment of what the man before me must have gone through for all those years, and the thought of the torment he'd suffered tore at my heart.

By the look on his face, I know that Barbossa had been expecting me to turn away, and what I did, I think, was the last thing either he or I expected. Overcome with a mix of strong emotions, I threw my arms around him and buried my face against his chest, while Jack still muttered in his simian irritation from the railing.

Barbossa stood there stiffly, unknowing how to react at first, and finally letting go of his anger, slid his arms around me and held me gently while I clung to him. I thought I heard him speak, and would only realize later what the two quiet words were that he whispered past my shoulder while I held onto him desperately.

"Thankee, Jack."

~o~

When my tears finally stopped, and I released my grasp of Barbossa, I wiped at my face with my hands, and tried to compose myself to a degree while he waited. After a moment, he held out a hand, watching silently to see if I would take it while the seconds ticked by and I agonized over what I should do.

A warning voice was echoing in my head, telling me to leave well enough alone, that he and I had been through enough already, and would be best off just walking away from each other as soon as we could.

Logically, it was the best thing I could do, but logic had never fared well with me when I was in the presence of the man that stood in front of me, and it failed me once more.

Barbossa still offered me his hand. "May, lass," he whispered, and the desperation that was in his voice tugged at my illogical heart, "come with me."

"I shouldn't," I whispered back.

"I know," he replied, softly, still holding out his hand.

"It's not right," I fretted, gazing at long black nails on strong, elegant fingers.

"I know," was all he said, and he waited patiently for me.

"I'll regret it," I said, in a barely audible voice.

"I swear ye won't," he said, and it sounded like his voice caught a little.

I looked up at him at last.

"Do ye still trust me?" he asked.

I gave a barely perceptible nod. "Always," I said, and I placed my hand in his where he closed his fingers over mine as if my hand were fragile.

~o~

I let him lead me back into his cabin, and he let go of my hand long enough to rid himself of weapons and his coat, after he tossed his hat on the table. I stood a short distance away, not knowing what to do or say at that moment.

"May," he said softly, reverting again to the name he'd called me by years before, "might I speak plainly?"

"I'd prefer it," I said gently, in a weak attempt at lightening the moment.

I think we were both exhausted by the emotional turmoil from a short while before, and he sounded tired but determined when he spoke again. "Ye must know that I've been in love with you all this time?"

I had expected him to be open about what he was thinking, but I never, ever expected that particular declaration from him. I couldn't even reply, as astonished as I was at hearing the pirate in front of me speak such words.

When I said nothing, he continued. "Ye must remember what I said, all those years ago. I told ye the way I felt was set in stone, and no truer words have I ever spoken." He came to within arms reach, and lightly touched my cheek. "I know ye still care, and I'm askin' that which I've no right to ask...would ye be yet able to spend time with an old seadog like me, and mayhap learn to feel what ye once did?"

I smiled at him despite the tears that were starting again, and spoke words that I myself needed to hear. "You're assuming that the way I feel about you ever changed."

"Has it?" he asked cautiously.

"No."

He gathered me in gently against him at that point, still treating me as if I were something that would shatter if he embraced me any harder. I clung tightly to him, needing to feel his solidity and strength, and he buried his face in my hair as we stood like that for a long time.

Still sounding tired, but letting a bit of charming arrogance slip into his voice, he whispered in my ear. "Ye can't resist me, can yeh?"

"No," I said, knowing that whether or not he joked about it, it was true.

"'Tis best ye just admit it," he said, letting go of me as a subtle smile tugged at his mouth. He held his hand out to me again, and I placed my hand in his, expecting him to lead me to the next room, and debating if I was truly ready for what might follow.

He surprised me when he led me to a chair and indicated that I should sit, and the next thing I knew, he was placing a quill in my hand and paper and ink before me. "What is this for?" I asked, unsure what it was he wanted of me.

His manner returned to something closer to his usual self-assuredness, but his voice was soft as he spoke to me. "I reckon there's a letter that ye need write," he said, nodding his head at the paper in front of me.

I must have still looked puzzled, and he dropped to one knee, with just a bit of difficulty, next to my chair and spoke again. "If I know you, Madeline Gray, ye'll be consumed with guilt if ye do aught you think you shouldn't, and break a solemn promise that ye've made to someone else. I'll not be responsible fer instillin' any more guilt in ye, and I'll not trouble you further until ye've undone that promise."

Suddenly what he was implying was clear. He still intended to help me get word to Jonathan, only he expected that the message I would send wouldn't be asking for him to save me from the fate I'd earned for myself, but to inform him that I no longer would consent to be his bride. By undoing my engagement it would leave me free to be with Barbossa, and ensure that I could do so without finding myself resenting him later for causing me to betray my fiancée.

"Am I right?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, thankful that he did apparently understand me so well despite the time we'd spent apart.

"Are ye ready?" he asked, glancing at the quill in my hand.

"No," I said, earning a brief look of angst from him, "but it's not really the type of thing you can ever be ready to do, now is it?"

He smiled a bit at me. "I reckon not." He rose and looked down at where I sat, and lifted my chin with his fingers, meeting me with a calm steady gaze that belied the fury and passion that had consumed him earlier. "I'll leave you to yer letter," he said, and he let go and started to walk away.

"Oh," he said, suddenly thinking of something else, "ye'll be needin' this too." He retrieved sealing wax the exact color of blood and placed it next to a candle on the table, and then slipped a ring off the smallest finger of his hand and set it next to the wax. He met my eyes once more, and I nodded, silently giving the reassurance that he needed whether he said anything or not.

I stared at the blank paper, trying to fathom how I was even going to begin, even as I heard the door to the cabin click shut.

~o~

Two hours later, I signed my name on the fifth rendition of the letter I'd been trying to write, and stared at it for a long time. Once again, as with the first four versions, I crumpled it and tossed it on the table.

On the surface, writing the letter to Jonathan seemed like such a simple thing to do, but it would have been easier if I didn't care so much about him, and still harbor so many doubts about Barbossa, despite the fact that I was irresistibly drawn to him.

I realized then, that as much as I wanted to put an end to the turmoil in my heart, it wasn't the type of decision that I was going to be able to make on the spur of the moment. I needed time to think. I knew I wouldn't be able to go back on my decision, one way or the other, in part because of my nature, and in part because I would betray one of the men who loved me.

Completely drained at that moment, I didn't think I could walk even as far as the cabin door, and since there'd been no sign of Barbossa all the while, I retired to his bedchamber and curled up against a pillow, thinking I'd rest a bit while I waited for him to return.

Sometime later, after I'd drifted off, I became aware of someone in the room with me, and Barbossa stood there leaning against the doorway, having evidently been watching me sleep.

"Yeh didn't write it," he said softly, when he saw my eyes open.

"Hector," I began, propping myself up on my elbow, "it's..."

He held up a hand to silence me. "No need to explain," he replied, in a defeated voice that I knew to be laced with frustration. "I'll leave ye be." He turned and made as if to leave the cabin to me.

"You don't need to go," I said, sitting up quickly and trying to stop him. "I'll go back to my..."

"Sleep on it, May," he said, indicating that I should just use his cabin, and he left, looking tired and careworn.

It broke my heart to see his normally self-assured and somewhat arrogant manner replaced by such a defeated, resigned one, but it likewise tore at me emotionally to think of Jonathan opening any of the letters I'd tried to write. I lay back down, thinking I'd never be able to fall asleep with the anxiety that gripped me and caused the endless circles of unresolved thoughts in my head.

How much later it was when I heard the cabin door open again, I couldn't honestly say, but I was surprised that I'd been able to fall asleep at all, and I was surprised also that Barbossa, who was standing in the doorway to the bedchamber again, had returned that evening. I knew it must be well after midnight.

"What's wrong?" I asked, thinking that it might be something urgent.

"Nothin'," he replied, and his tone struck me as slightly petulant.

"What are you doing up so late?" I asked, sitting up on the edge of his bed once more.

"'Tis not unusual fer me to be up during the night," he said in reply, but there was something out of place in the way he said it that I didn't put my finger on immediately.

"Insomnia?" I asked, concerned about him not being able to sleep.

"Yeh need to have a fancy word fer everythin', dontcha?" he said somewhat caustically. His sharp tone caught me off guard, as mine had obviously indicated that I was concerned about him.

"I'm sorry," I started.

"Fer what?" he demanded, irritably.

"For reverting to medical terms you wouldn't understand..."

"I get the meanin' of insomnia, _Doctor_," he snarled quietly. "Think ye so little of me? Do you think me simple?"

I had no idea where his bitterness and accusations were coming from. "No, of course not, Hector," I said, standing and going toward him, more concerned about his growing irritation.

He wasn't done, and his tone was getting sharper by the minute. "Apol...apologies if'n ye think a humble pirate not be...be up to the standard yer ac...accustomed to."

I hadn't even gotten close enough to him to smell the rum on him when I'd finally figured out that part of his problem was that he'd gone and consumed a fair amount of it, and I knew it must have been a large amount with what I knew him capable of consuming and brushing off with little effect from long acquaintance with it.

"Hector," I said softly, in a cautious way, not wanting to provoke him further, "you're drunk."

"Aye, an' what of it?" he demanded, taking one slightly unsteady step toward me. "This be my ship. Cannot the captain of the ship indulge as he wishes upon occasion? Am I not master of this vessel, or do ye not approve of this either?"

"Either? What else do you think I don't approve of?" I asked.

"Ha! What do ye approve of?" he demanded sarcastically. "Ye have no use fer piratin', or stealin', or swordplay, or..."

"Hector, stop it," I said, as gently as I could.

"Stop it," he mimicked back unkindly, not caring apparently, about the hurt expression his words elicited from me. "Do ye think to tell me what to do aboard me own ship, woman?"

"No, of course, not," I said meekly as he drew nearer, trying not to encourage his ire.

He reached out and took me by the arm firmly, although not cruelly, and closed the distance to stand very close. "Think ye that I'd let any of the scoundrels that crew me ship tell me what to do, never mind a spoiled girl?"

"I am hardly a girl, Hector," I said, hearing my own annoyance building, despite the fact that it hadn't been my intent to engage him, "and I don't know where you get the idea that I'm spoiled..."

"Oh, jus' because you go to fancy parties, an' be courted by important officers, and have a nice house and..."

"I work very hard for everything that I have, Hector," I said sharply.

"An' I suppose I need listen to ye bellyache about how difficult yer life be because yer a woman?" he said maliciously.

My mouth dropped open a little at the hurt his words caused me, and I frowned and bit back. "Well, at least I've _earned_ everything I have, _Captain_."

"See! Did I not say ye disapprove of me?" he accused me again.

"I don't disapprove of _you_, Hector, just some of the things that..."

He reached out with the hand that wasn't gripping my elbow, and touched my face in a surprisingly tender gesture, and his irritation seemed to melt into something more akin to angst quite suddenly. "Then why do ye not stay with me?" he asked, catching me unprepared for the emotion in his question. "Why do ye not stay?"

The pain in his voice was obvious, and I let go of my anger immediately. "Shhh, hush," I said softly, as I would to my horse or a small child, and he let me pull him nearer to embrace him for a long moment.

"May," he began again, and his usually assertive voice broke a little.

I let go of him and took his hand and led him to his bed, even as I shushed him again, lightly. It was my turn to make sure he made it safely to the bed, weaving a bit as he did. When I lay down beside him, I drew him to me, and he clung to me as if I would vanish any moment.

"Don't go," he whispered, arms about me tightly and whispering in my hair. "Why do ye not stay?"

"Shhh." I hushed him again, and stroked the long, tangled, graying hair back away from his face. "Give me some time to think. I need a little time."

"You can't be with him, May," he said, becoming more distraught. I'd never seen such desperation from him in the past, and I knew that although such emotions lay buried deep within the man next to me, it was only the considerable influence of the rum that allowed them to surface in front of me.

"None of that," I whispered, still stroking his hair. I had a fleeting impression of what he must have been like as a young boy as he clung to me desperately. "You need to sleep."

"You must stay," he said, echoing the message in a plaintive whisper. "You can't be his."

"No?" I asked, feeling the tears welling up in my own eyes as he tore at my heart with his distressed manner.

"No," he said, pulling me even closer and burying his face deeper in my hair. "Ye were meant to be mine, lass."

His voice caught again, and for one of the only times I would ever be witness to, the captain of the _Black Pearl_, Lord of the Caspian Sea and scourge of the Caribbean, broke down in my arms, and shed tears that fell hotly against my neck, before falling into a fitful slumber next to me. I held onto him, trying not to disturb him as I wiped at my own brimming eyes, and knew that my decision had just become even more difficult.

~o~

**A/N: **The next few chapters lighten up and are a bit more fun!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Thanks to the Swimming Door for the review and the feedback! :)

Thanks to all of you for your great comments last chapter. I really felt that writing a scene where Barbossa would shed tears was a risky one, but I really wanted to see if I could make it believable. From the feedback you all sent, I guess it came out alright! Hugs to all of you who have been continuing to send encouragement and enthusiasm for the story!

~o~

**Chapter Fourteen **

~o~

_"You must stay," he said, echoing the message in a plaintive whisper. "You can't be his."_

_"No?" I asked, feeling the tears welling up in my own eyes as he tore at my heart with his distressed manner._

_"No," he said, pulling me even closer and burying his face deeper in my hair. "Ye were meant to be mine, lass."_

_His voice caught again, and for one of the only times I would ever be witness to, the captain of the Black Pearl, Lord of the Caspian Sea and scourge of the Caribbean, broke down in my arms, and shed tears that fell hotly against my neck, before falling into a fitful slumber next to me. I held onto him, trying not to disturb him as I wiped at my own brimming eyes, and knew that my decision had just become even more difficult._

~o~

When I awoke late the next morning, a bit worn out still and slightly unfocused, it was to a sound that I wasn't accustomed to in the least. Gentle snoring arose from near my ear, and I suddenly realized that I couldn't move. I'd managed to turn onto my back sometime during the night, and evidently he'd managed to stay close, shifting to sleep with my arm under him and his head against my shoulder, and there he still slumbered, while I discovered the lack of feeling in my arm.

Debating if the loss of circulation was uncomfortable enough to risk waking him, I couldn't help but smile to myself. Waking up with a snoring, hung over pirate sprawled half on top of me was not typically the way I planned to start my day.

I waited a few minutes, hoping he might stir, but Barbossa was dead to the world, dreaming whatever it was he dreamt about, with one arm flung carelessly across my chest. Finally, deciding that I might have to remove my own arm if I didn't restore the circulation to it soon, I did my best to push at him a little and try to extract my numb limb. Evidently I disturbed him just enough that he surfaced a fraction, and feeling me trying to pull away, tightened his grip on me unconsciously, not realizing in his sleep that he'd groped me ungracefully, even when I emitted a small squeal of surprise and moved his hand lower.

Once more, I pushed at his heavy weight and tried to free my arm, finally getting him to roll off of me onto his back, and I triumphantly tried to rub some feeling back into my arm, while he continued to snore even louder. The sight of him lying there, rumpled, disheveled, hair across his face and snoring inelegantly next to me nonetheless tugged at my affections, and I couldn't help but start to giggle.

After a minute of me trying to unsuccessfully hide my amusement, he opened one eye and glanced at me. "What are you laughin' at?" he asked, his voice coarser even than usual from his overindulgence of the night before.

"You," I admitted, obviously amused.

"Wonderful," he said, managing the tiniest of sneers, but it held little enthusiasm. He raised his hands to his head, pressing his fingers to his temples.

"Merda!" he swore, softly, obviously dealing with the consequences of a lot of rum and little sleep. He decided to try and sit up, and then instantly realized it was a very bad idea and let his splitting head fall back against the pillow with an exaggerated groan. "Fuck me," he muttered, cradling his head with his hands.

I sat bolt upright. "Excuse me?" I said, appalled at what I mistakenly took for a most indelicate and outrageous request. I hadn't thought him to be that drunk still.

"'Tis an expression of displeasure only, May," he said, amused despite his hangover.

"Oh." The relief in my voice must have been of comical proportions, and he laughed at my misunderstanding and then grabbed his head, which evidently throbbed harder when he laughed.

"Bloody hell," he swore, and then groaned again. "What a complete ruddy arse ye must think me."

I smiled at his pitiful state. "I'd say we're even on that account, now," I replied. I suddenly wondered what Jonathan would have said if he'd ever seen me in the tipsy condition I'd been in two nights before. I doubted he would have been as amused as Barbossa was, and I highly doubted I'd ever see him in the condition Barbossa was in at that moment.

Barbossa groaned again. "Get my gun, lass, and shoot me now," he said, carrying on a bit dramatically. "Me head's about to split open," he whined.

"And whose fault is that?" I asked smartly.

He rolled his head on the pillow to gaze at me. "Yers."

"Mine?" I asked.

"Aye, yers," he said, wryly, "but I'll let ye make it up to me."

"Oh, thank goodness," I said back with good natured sarcasm, "and how shall I go about doing that?"

"Did I not offer a suggestion a moment ago?" he asked wickedly, and then laughed at the appalled look that momentarily crossed my face.

"Damn!" he swore, clutching at his pounding head even as he laughed.

"You are the most indecent scoundrel, Hector Barbossa!" I said, not nearly as irritated as I tried to make it seem, and then I soften my voice to tease him cautiously. "That is not anything a proper gentleman would ever say to a lady."

"I notice it's not yer proper gentleman ye'd be in bed with _again_," he said and then grabbed his head as he sniggered at his own audacity.

I grabbed up my pillow and hit him with it.

"Madeline!" he gasped, groaning at his throbbing head. "Are you tryin' to kill me?"

"Oh, stop whining like a child," I admonished him.

"Merciless wench!" he replied. "Have ye no sympathy for a dyin' man?"

"No," I said, amused but not quite over his previous outrageous comment. I hit him with the pillow again. "That's for calling me a wench."

"Blast, woman!" he cried, laughing just the same and then cringing at how his head hurt more when he laughed. "Some doctor ye'd be, yeh heartless witch."

I hit him again, giggling, as I knew he really wasn't suffering as much as he led me to believe. "That's for calling me...oh!" He moved rather quickly for someone as ill as he'd indicated and suddenly he'd grabbed my free hand, dragging me toward him.

"Hit me again, will ye?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eye despite the headache. "_Harridan_."

Of course he knew I'd hit him again even as I was laughing at the impolite things he'd labeled me, and he grabbed the other arm after I'd struck him with the pillow, causing me to drop it as I screamed lightly. Moving quickly for someone so hung over, he rolled to pin me against the bed and held me there by the arms as he leaned over me. "Ye'd be in a bit of trouble, lass," he said. "I'd suggest you apologize."

"No, not until you do," I said stubbornly, still laughing.

"Pirates do not apologize," he announced, "but I'd expect an apology from the likes of you...if you know what be good fer yeh."

"No." I'm not really sure what made me continue the game we'd ended up in, but somehow I couldn't resist.

"No?" he asked, feigning insult. "Then it's the plank fer you, Miss Gray...or maybe keelhaulin'...or..." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ah, yes, _torture_."

"Torture?" I asked, trying not to giggle girlishly. "Really, Hector, you're not scaring me in the lea...OH!" My declaration was cut off by the unladylike little squeal I'd let go when he'd dug his fingers into my side, startling me and confirming what he'd already surmised –that I was indeed ticklish.

"Stop!" I cried between giggles, trying unsuccessfully to pry his fingers away.

"Stop? Ye'll have to do better than that, lass," he said with a smirk, and he resumed tickling me and digging his fingers mercilessly into my flesh, causing me to scream again during my laughter as I fought, unsuccessfully, to free myself from his stronger hands.

He paused in his torment for one moment. "Do you yield? Will ye apologize?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes still.

"Yes," I said, breathless from his harassment.

"On this ship, I expect me wenches to say 'aye'," he declared, tickling me again for just an instant. "Do you yield?"

"Aye," I complied, breathlessly, and then suddenly I sobered as I found myself meeting his steady blue gaze, panting underneath him from being tickled, and finding that the feel of his weight against me was not unpleasant at all. I knew I was in trouble with as tangled together as we were, and for an instant I thought he was going to kiss me.

I admit to being both relieved and disappointed when his gaze came back up from where it had rested for an instant on my lips, and he smirked and let go, commenting smartly as he climbed off the bed. "I'm glad to see I still have final authority aboard me own ship."

I wasn't done after being treated in such an undignified manner. "When it manages to be _your_ ship, and not Captain Sparrow's," I replied, giving him my sweetest smile.

His brow shot up at the audacity of my comment, but thankfully he took it as the jest it was meant as, and not as any form of actual insult. I realized an instant later, by the look that crossed his face that I was in deep trouble, and I leapt out of the bed, bolting for the main cabin with a scream that would have bested that of any schoolgirl, even as he lunged to grab me.

I made it to the center of the room next to the table, and debated for an instant whether I should risk trying to get to the door, as there were likely a lot of crewmembers on deck, but my momentary hesitation cost me my slight advantage, and Barbossa grabbed me from behind.

Not wanting to be subjected to any more forms of torture, I swung my elbow back to catch him in the ribs, hoping to free myself. He instantly let go of me and doubled over, holding his ribs and gasping. "Damn, lass!"

When I turned, he stood there wincing where he pressed a hand to his side, and suddenly I felt terrible, as I'd not thought I'd hit him very hard.

"Are you alright?" I asked, concerned, and he winced again and nodded without being able to answer. "Oh dear! Hector, I didn't mean to hurt you," I said, crossing the short distance between us to see about checking his injury. I never should have trusted him for a second, for as soon as I got close enough, he grabbed me, a triumphant smirk plastered across his face.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, even as I let out another startled scream and then started giggling. "Ye'll pay dearly fer _that_ comment, lass," he said, trying to maintain his hold on me as I fought to free myself. By that point we were both laughing quite hard, and neither of us noticed the cabin door crack open.

Unfortunately, Jack had heard the commotion in the cabin, and being the clever little monster that he is, knew how to go about working the latch on the door. Once he caught sight of where we were engaged in mock battle, he shot across the cabin, screeching and intent on assaulting me. Thankfully, Barbossa reacted quickly, and spun us about so that he moved me out of Jack's trajectory, and Jack reacted by hitting his shoulder and then rebounding to the table where he continued to chatter angrily.

Jack did manage to disrupt things a bit, for when Barbossa had swung me away from Jack, we'd both managed to lose our balance a little, and when Jack pounced off of him, the monkey's weight and my simultaneous attempt at ducking added enough momentum that we toppled over together, and I found myself sprawled somewhat ungracefully on top of the pirate as he laid there laughing.

Neither of us could move for several long minutes, as hard as we were laughing, and things became even funnier when we realized that Jack had opened the cabin door enough that a number of curious pirates had begun peering in, wondering what the commotion was after I'd been screaming, Jack was screeching, and Barbossa and I were paralyzed with mirth, tangled together in a heap on the floor.

Barbossa was holding his still aching head in his hands as I tried to free my skirts from where they were tangled around us, revealing more of my legs than I was comfortable with, when Gibbs, once more, peered tentatively through the open door.

"Sir?" he asked, his gaze traveling uncertainly from his prone captain, to me trying to cover my knees, to Jack who was jumping up and down on the table in noisy agitation, back to where we were still laughing on the floor. "Everythin' alright, Cap'n?"

"Aye," was all Barbossa could manage, in too much pain and too amused to try and salvage his dignity as he waved Gibbs off.

When I'd given up fussing about my dress, I looked up to see Gibbs flanked by Marty, Cotton, Pintel and Ragetti, who started off looking a bit stunned, and were rapidly taking on the appearance of being quite amused. They shared a few looks among them that betrayed what they must have thought too be going on in the cabin, and I blushed furiously and sobered rather quickly.

"Off with ye," Barbossa commanded, finally regaining some semblance of control, "and take Jack with you." Amidst a round of smirks from the group in the doorway, Gibbs complied quickly, attempting to retrieve Jack, who bolted out of the cabin of his own accord, and he beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him.

I finally managed to haul myself to my feet, but even as I smoothed out my skirts and adjusted the neckline of my dress so it wasn't sitting askew and off one shoulder, Barbossa remained on the floor where he'd managed a sitting position, watching me as I fussed with my clothes.

"Rumpled or not, ye'd be quite fetchin', lass," he said as he climbed a bit stiffly to his feet, "and every bit as lovely as I remember ye."

I tried to diffuse the situation, dismissing his comments with a slightly impatient gesture. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain Barbossa," I said, scolding him lightly. "I'm a dozen years older than then."

"Ye'd hardly know," he said, approaching where I was running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to dislodge some of the tangles that arose from our encounter. "Would that I not be yet a dozen years older." I knew he referred not so much to the time that had gone by, as to the difference in our ages. I'd always known Barbossa to be at least a decade my senior.

"You know that never mattered to me," I said, watching as he came to stand very close to me. Indeed, it hadn't, and it was not uncommon for women I knew in both England and Port Royal to have been matched, voluntarily and involuntarily, with men with an even greater amount of seniority to themselves.

"I know," he said, "minha flora encantadora." He reached behind my head, under my tousled hair, and drew me nearer.

"What?" I asked, softly, not understanding the Portuguese he sometimes spoke as a result of growing up around a Portuguese native that was friend and mentor for many years. I was somewhat more preoccupied with the way he was looking at me and leaning closer. "Don't," I whispered, putting my fingers to his lips, just preventing him from kissing me. It wasn't that I found kissing him unpleasant, in fact, the problem was that I found it quite the opposite, and I didn't need anything else muddying the waters while I tried to decide what I needed to do.

Never one to be outdone lightly, he kissed my fingers that were against his lips and then let go of me, striding across the cabin and pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it onto the bed. Retrieving a new shirt, he shrugged himself into it as he spoke again.

"You know," he began, re-tying the green bandana he customarily wore around his head, "as captain of this ship, 'tis rare that I not get me own way, or have the things I desire."

"I imagine that's true," I said in reply, trying not to smile at the appealing arrogance that he was allowing back into his manner as he continued dressing, finally donning his frockcoat and weapons.

He swept his hat up from the table and headed for the door. "I imagine 'twill be sooner than later that I'll have that kiss," he said, wry grin in place as he perched his plumed hat on his head and swept out of the cabin, letting the door fall shut behind him.

I shook my head slowly, unable to keep from smiling at his roguish charm. I knew as well as I was standing there, that for good or bad, his words were more than likely true.

~o~

**A/N:** I've been challenged this week to a writing duel, and the challenger decreed that we would compete with Barbossa-centered smut. Yes, that's right, I said smut. You all know that this is not normally what I write, but I couldn't resist the dare. Tomorrow (Thursday 3/12) is when they are to be posted, so if you dare and you don't have tender sensibilities, check out _The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Thanks to all of you who left me comments on _Romancing the Black Pearl_ and _The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness! _

This chapter has a bit of a surprise for Barbossa near the end, which will be one for folks who have been reading Naught But a Humble Pirate also. ;)

~o~

**Chapter Fifteen **

~o~

_"You know," he began, re-tying the green bandana he customarily wore around his head, "as captain of this ship, 'tis rare that I not get me own way, or have the things I desire."_

_"I imagine that's true," I said in reply, trying not to smile at the appealing arrogance that he was allowing back into his manner as he continued dressing, finally donning his frockcoat and weapons._

_He swept his hat up from the table and headed for the door. "I imagine 'twill be sooner than later that I'll have that kiss," he said, wry grin in place as he perched his plumed hat on his head and swept out of the cabin, letting the door fall shut behind him._

_I shook my head slowly, unable to keep from smiling at his roguish charm. I knew as well as I was standing there, that for good or bad, his words were more than likely true._

~o~

One of the consequences of Barbossa going out on deck before me, was that after I'd managed to compose myself and do something with my hair, I got fewer odd looks from pirates when I emerged from the cabin, than I would have if he hadn't already taken up position on the quarterdeck.

Of course, fewer isn't synonymous with _none_, and when I stood on deck, shielding my eyes with my hand against the bright Caribbean morning sun, I realized that Pintel and Ragetti were standing nearby, both with smirks plastered firmly in place.

"Have a good evenin' wiv t' cap'n?" Pintel asked, the look on his face clearly indicating what he was insinuating. "Yeh seemed ta have an amusin' mornin'."

I shot him a look that told him neither my evening nor my morning was any of his business, and then Ragetti chimed in.

"Quite the sight this mornin'," he said, somewhat more pleasantly than his shorter counterpart. "Can't say as I've seen the cap'n…"

"Gentlemen, I am quite sure that is not any of your business," I said, blushing and trying to keep my voice firm but pleasant.

"All I'm sayin' is I can't recall seein' 'im laugh like that before," Ragetti clarified. "Y' know, in a good way...happy-like."

"Really?" I asked, surprised by his comment.

Pintel sniggered. "Yeah, an' I'd say he were pretty 'appy wot wiv you sprawled atop 'is..."

"I'm sure the captain would be interested in your observations," I said, threateningly, knowing the dirty look I was using was not enough to intimidate the pirate on its own.

Pintel's grin turned to a deep scowl. "Fine. Can't a man 'ave a bit 'o fun aroun' 'ere?"

"'S not righ' if yeh say things like that to a lady," Ragetti scolded him.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind if I meet one," Pintel said caustically, and he stomped off.

"Don' mind 'im," Ragetti said, smiling pleasantly. "'E's not much of a mornin' person." Ragetti then frowned. "Not really much of an afternoon or evenin' person either, come ta think 'bout it."

I laughed, and Ragetti brightened at the fact that he'd managed to amuse me.

I accompanied him to where he and Pintel had been taking stock of a pile of weapons that had been stolen from the _Essex_, cleaning them and making sure each was in good working order before they would be stored below in the _Pearl's_ armory. Pintel said nothing to me and gave me another scowl as he went about working on the musket he had across his lap.

Ragetti chatted on pleasantly as he worked, periodically eliciting a roll of the eyes from his surly companion, and I smiled to think of Mrs. Healy having to deal with the pair when they'd gone ashore, years before, to send me flowers on Barbossa's behalf.

I took the opportunity while Pintel and Ragetti argued some point about whether _Tortuga_ was the Spanish word for tortoise or the one for turtle, and whether in fact, there was a difference between the two animals, and looked across the ship to where Barbossa was casually pacing the quarterdeck with Jack on his shoulder, hands clasped behind his back and barking orders periodically as he saw fit. He glanced in my direction once and I looked away, not wanting him to know I'd been watching him.

When at last the pile of guns had been tended to, they needed to be checked to make sure they fired correctly and that the sights were accurate, and the next thing I knew, Pintel and Ragetti were taking turns chucking empty rum and wine bottles from the _Essex_ overboard, and shooting them to evaluate the guns. It only took a minute or two before it turned into a contest of sorts, and began drawing the attention of several other crewmembers, who stopped what they were doing and came to watch.

Soon, several others had joined in, and guns were being loaded and handed off to whichever pair was engaged in competition for the moment. Cheering and rowdy banter accompanied the shooting, and money began changing hands as wagers were placed. I recall that I couldn't help but be impressed by the marksmanship of some of the pirates.

Evidently I'd been too absorbed in watching the shooting, and hadn't paid attention to the fact that Barbossa had left his station at the helm and was standing just behind me.

"Oi! Cap'n's on deck!" someone shouted. "'And off one o' them guns to the cap'n!"

"Aye! Give us a gun fer the captain!"

"Gents, ye'd be doin' fine without me," Barbossa said, trying to decline the offer to join in.

"Aw, come on, Cap'n," they protested, trying to get him to capitulate and join. It was well known among the crew that not only was their captain one of the most dangerous swordsmen in the Caribbean, but a skilled marksman who was deadly accurate shooting with either hand as well.

"Alright," Barbossa finally agreed, sending up a cheer from the men, "who be my first victim?"

Money kept changing hands as Barbossa defeated first Riley, then Ragetti, and finally Gibbs, and just when it looked like he was going to turn over his gun to someone else, he appeared to change his mind and addressed the crew. "Gentlemen, I believe there's a lady on board who handles a gun with great skill."

I knew I was in trouble and began wishing fervently that I were somewhere else.

Pintel whispered to me from behind. "Handled the cap'n's gun wiv great skill, 'ave yeh?"

I shot him a dirty look as he grinned wickedly at me.

"Let the lady shoot!" someone called, and suddenly the men were ushering me forward. The next thing I knew, someone had handed me a loaded gun.

"I really can't," I tried to protest, seeing the wicked gleam in Barbossa's eye.

"Methinks ye can, and quite handily, if I recall," he replied, tipping his head and fingering the hole in the rear of his hat's brim.

"Really, it's been…" I started again.

"Come now, Doctor," he said, "surely yer not afraid of competin' with the men?"

I shot him a dirty look and he laughed, knowing that he was pulling just the right strings to get me to acquiesce. "Fine," I said, watching the triumphant smirk cross his face. He obviously thought he was going to beat me, since he figured that the last opportunity I'd had to handle a gun was probably during the battle against the _Valiant._

What Barbossa didn't know, and I certainly didn't impart to him, was that one of the pastimes that Jonathan and I shared, in addition to riding our horses together, was target practice at the fort, which sat just a short ways away from the hospital. Perhaps as often as twice a week at times, I would bring him dinner when he was on duty, and we'd take it to the courtyard to share and spend time conversing while he worked on my skill with the gun. Evidently it amused and pleased him that his fiancée was able to handle a musket, and he'd laughed about the fact that he'd eventually have to teach me to handle a sword at some point.

"Might I have one practice shot, Captain?" I asked, as pleasantly as I could.

"Of course," he replied, stepping back from the rail to allow me access. I knew all eyes were on me as I raised the rifle and waited for Ragetti to chuck a bottle into the waves.

The wine bottle hit the water and I followed it for a second or two before pulling the trigger, and with a '_pop_' the bottle disintegrated and sank beneath the surface. A cheer went up, and wagers were set while someone handed me another readied gun.

"What say ye, lass, best of ten?" Barbossa asked, after glancing about at the men who were setting their bets.

"That would be fine," I said, knowing it wasn't like I was really going to have much say in the matter.

Barbossa nodded. "Then, what say ye to a little wager, Miss Gray?"

I knew I was in deeper trouble by the look in his eyes, and the crew cheered at the idea, ensuring that I wasn't going to wriggle my way off the hook he had set.

"Alright," I said reluctantly, noting the crew had gone quiet to hear the terms of our bet. "What sort of wager did you have in mind? I don't have any money."

Barbossa smiled slyly. "It's not money I'd be wantin' from you when you lose," he said, getting a bit cocky. The crew took his meaning and began laughing and catcalling. He waited for the crew to simmer down, and then spoke again. "Lads, think ye a kiss would suffice as payment?" he called out.

"Aye!" the crew cheered merrily, while I shot Barbossa a dirty look. Apparently he was still intent on getting a kiss sooner rather than later as he'd said earlier.

"A kiss then," he declared, as evidently my opinion was not going to be considered. "The terms be a single kiss, full on the mouth, to be given' when and where I deem it be appropriate."

"Fine," I said through clenched teeth, as the crew roared their approval.

"Now," Barbossa said, holding up his hand for silence, and the crew settled down again. "Let us hear what the lady wants, in the unlikely event that she wins."

Of course I didn't want money, and I had no idea what to stake against his demand until sudden inspiration struck. I wasn't going to let him get off easy and I gave him my sweetest smile as he waited for my decision.

"Your hat," I said, causing Barbossa's smirk to fade just a little. The crew began laughing and issuing their approval as I clarified things for him. "If I win, your hat becomes mine."

"Fer how long?" he asked, trying to evaluate my terms.

"Permanently," I said.

"Permanently?" he asked, looking like he would have liked to reconsider his wager for something more substantial.

"Surely you aren't all that concerned about losing to a woman?" I asked, playing to his ego.

He knew as well as I did that I was trying to goad him into accepting, and he knew he couldn't back down in front of his men. Finally a smile crept across his face, and he nodded in agreement.

"Agreed," he said, and we shook on it and picked up our guns. "Ladies first," he added, and I stepped up to the railing.

By the time we had neatly traded off four successful shots apiece, Barbossa was becoming suspicious. "Glad to see ye haven't lost yer touch after not shootin' fer so many years," he said, as I stepped up to make my fifth shot.

The rum bottle exploded, and I handed off the empty musket to Ragetti, who gave me another loaded one. I placed a hand over my heart in mock distress. "Oh, did you assume I hadn't shot a gun in years? I'm so sorry."

He stepped forward for his turn. "I take it ye've had occasion to handle a gun since then?" he asked, sighting his target.

"Every week with Jonathan," I said pleasantly, and Barbossa snarled wordlessly as his shot went wide. Evidently my unwelcome comment had thrown him off, and the crew cried out as their captain missed. Wagers were re-negotiated, and money changed hands again as he gave me a poisonous look. I merely gave him my sweetest smile in return, and then stepped to the rail and took aim at the floating bottle and demolished it.

"Six to four, I believe, Captain," I said, exchanging the spent gun for a loaded one, and I have to say he didn't look at all pleased, but he made his next shot and it stood at six to five.

I believe that I have mentioned in the course of my writings, that Barbossa was never one to be flustered or defeated for long, and that morning would prove no different. When I raised the gun to sight the next bottle that Gibbs had thrown, and the pirates all crowded in together to see if I made the shot or not, Barbossa managed to surreptitiously lean a little closer when the crew weren't focused on him, and my shot went wide when felt his fingers brush purposefully across my backside.

Instantly I shot Barbossa an unhappy, accusing glance, but he merely gave me the most innocent look he could muster and tutted his disappointment. "Too bad, too bad. Better luck on the next one." He then handily blew up the bottle, and the score stood at six to six.

What the wily pirate knew about me was that not only would his actions fluster me for the individual shot I missed, but that I'd get angry about what was obviously a blatant attempt at cheating from him, and a sexist one at that. I highly doubted that he'd bother to fondle any of his crew's backsides if he were competing against them and sought to gain an advantage.

I made my next shot, although barely, only managing to shoot the neck off the bottle, but the shot was ruled in my favor, and after Barbossa made his next shot easily, more wagers were modified around us and the score stood seven to seven.

I knew I had to do something to throw Barbossa off, and I did manage to do so, but not for the reason that I had originally intended. Deciding to take an extreme risk to see if I could rattle his confidence, I readied the rifle and called for the next bottle to be thrown, but I didn't wait for it to hit the water, instead I tracked it as it tumbled, and blew it to bits just before it hit the waves.

A hearty cry of appreciation for my shot went up from the crew, and Barbossa even nodded his approval. "That be a fine shot, lass," he said, not seeming flustered in the least. "I've not had occasion to shoot a moving target like that since the last time I hunted conies."

I'd forgotten that he'd mentioned being proficient at bringing down scampering rabbits in his youth, and I smiled at something that we had in common at last. "How odd," I said completely innocently, watching as he raised his gun to match my shot against a moving target. "When I learned to shoot, my Uncle Jed used to take me out to hunt rabbits for dinner."

Barbossa smiled as he sighted the tumbling bottle, and then not only did he miss, but he never pulled the trigger at all. He turned abruptly to face me, and I actually think he'd gone a little pale. "What did you say?" he asked, not sounding happy, and it appeared to have very little to do with the fact that the shot had just been ruled against him, making the score eight to seven.

I know I must have looked puzzled. "I said my uncle used to take me to shoot rabbits when I was young," I repeated, confused at why he was beginning to look flustered.

"Yer uncle..._Jed_," he confirmed.

"Yes," I answered, still not knowing what was going on.

Barbossa looked solemn and thoughtful for a moment. "'Twould be short fer Jedediah, I reckon."

"Yes, that's right," I said, not knowing that I would soon become as flustered as Barbossa. "My uncle's name is Jedediah Gray. What does that matter?"

Barbossa sighed and leaned heavily on his rifle. "Why did ye never tell me this before, Madeline?"

"I've spoken about my family any number of times, including my uncle Jed. He's the merchant sailor who was away a lot, but taught me how to shoot and to swim when I was young," I replied, still at a loss. "Why?"

"We'll speak of this later," he said, shaking his head and starting to smile to himself. "Yer turn."

Preoccupied with the fact that Barbossa had become visibly upset upon hearing me speak about my uncle, I missed my next moving shot, and the score stood at eight to eight after Barbossa made his.

Each of us made our next shots, which the crew had deemed should still be moving targets, and I was thankful we were nearly done. Barbossa leaned closer as I waited for someone to hand me a loaded gun.

"That color suits you," he said, nodding at the dark blue dress I wore.

"Thank you," I said, smiling at his weak attempt to distract me. I determined that it would take more than flattery from him to throw me off.

"But I see you still haven't tried the dress I suggested," he said casually, watching me raise my rifle.

"I'm quite sure I don't plan to," I answered sweetly, as Gibbs chucked the next rum bottle.

"Too bad," Barbossa said, sounding somewhat disappointed, "I found Elizabeth quite fetchin' in it."

Of course, I missed, irritated irrationally with petty jealousy that reared its unexpected head, and I shot him the dirtiest look I could manage. There was still a chance that he would miss, but I knew that the odds weren't good as Ragetti prepared to throw a final bottle.

He did so when Barbossa told him to, and not even bothering to raise the musket he'd been given, Barbossa drew his pistol left handed, and shot the tumbling rum bottle, with hardly a glance at it, smashing it to sparkling fragments that showered down over the waves.

He smirked when I rolled my eyes at the fact that he'd made it a point to show off on his final shot. Money changed hands among the crew, and one or two of them actually patted me on the shoulder to congratulate me on a fine showing against their captain, despite the fact that he'd beaten me.

"Well, Miss Gray," he said, when the crew had finally settled down, "I believe ye to have a debt to pay." He turned to address the crew. "This might be an appropriate time as any, aye, lads?"

"AYE!" the crew called back, obviously wanting to see me pay up.

"Fine," I said, less than enthusiastically, "if this is the time you deem appropriate."

"It is," he replied, a wicked gleam back in his eyes. "Now to determine the place."

I knew Barbossa wasn't going to be able to pass up having his payment delivered in front of the whole crew, and I was right, but not, unfortunately, for the reason I assumed.

"Here, if it meets yer approval?" he continued, and I shrugged, wanting to get it over with. I counted myself lucky that the worst that was going to come of any sort of accord with Barbossa was having to kiss him in front of his crew. I couldn't have been more mistaken.

"So, here and now," he said, and by the wicked smile he wore, I suddenly knew he was up to no good, and that somehow I must have missed something in our agreement. I knew exactly what detail I had overlooked when he suddenly turned away and spoke again.

"I believe I need assistance with this," he said, and the crew began to laugh, knowing what I suddenly did. He'd specified a kiss full on the mouth, but he hadn't necessarily confirmed that it would be his.

"If ye'd be so kind," he said triumphantly, "Master Pintel?"

~o~


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen **

~o~

_"So, here and now," he said, and by the wicked smile he wore, I suddenly knew he was up to no good, and that somehow I must have missed something in our agreement. I knew exactly what detail I had overlooked when he suddenly turned away and spoke again._

_"I believe I need assistance with this," he said, and the crew began to laugh, knowing what I suddenly did. He'd specified a kiss full on the mouth, but he hadn't necessarily confirmed that it would be his._

_"If ye'd be so kind," he said triumphantly, "Master Pintel?"_

~o~

The hooting and catcalls that came from the crowd of pirates around me told me there was no manner possible in which I was going to be able to avoid answering to the terms of the wager I'd so foolishly placed against Barbossa.

I kicked myself mentally for missing my last shot over something as silly as Barbossa's comment about finding Elizabeth attractive. Quite clearly the old rogue had done it for two reasons: a way of trying to cheat and win the bet, and a way of gauging if anything I felt fell in the spectrum of jealousy over his offhand comment about finding her attractive.

I must admit, that while my dearest Elizabeth is one of the loveliest young women I know, I was completely unprepared for the wave of resentment that had come and gone in an instant over the thought that my pirate captain might have given her more than one look. I had no doubt he did, as most men do, but that thought was suddenly replaced with the realization that I'd been thinking of Barbossa as _my_ pirate, despite our indeterminate status.

Any further musings over my feelings toward Barbossa were cut short by the smug comment he made a second later.

"Miss Gray," he said, looking as self-satisfied as a cat who'd managed to chew up a shoe, and then watched as the dog of the house was incriminated by the evidence, "I believe that all the other wagers have been settled."

He gestured around at where the crew was done exchanging coins, and Pintel stood waiting with his arms folded across his chest and wearing a devious grin that I would have rather slapped than kissed.

While Barbossa didn't laugh, there was clearly amusement in the smirk he wore and challenge in the look he met me with, and despite the fact that I found my fate fairly distasteful, I was determined that I would not renege on our agreement in front of all the men present.

"Fine," I croaked, and I braced myself and stepped closer to Pintel, determined to pay my debt as quickly as possible. I realized that I was in trouble with the lascivious grin he wore, and once I'd gotten close enough, I found myself grabbed up in a firm embrace and bent backwards in the arms of the rugged pirate, quite off balance.

My face flushed extremely warm as the crew egged him on, and the next thing I knew I was being kissed rather roughly and more intimately than I should like to admit by yet another pirate.

I did actually make a halfhearted attempt to kiss him back in order preclude him from claiming that I hadn't paid in full, but after several long seconds of having his mouth crushed over mine, I must confess that I began to flail a little, shoving against him and trying to right myself.

Barbossa must have finally determined that I'd sufficiently made good on my payment, and amidst the jeers and shrill whistles emanating from the crew at Pintel's enthusiastic kiss, he chuckled softly and spoke. "Master Pintel, that'll do," he said quietly, rescuing me at last.

Pintel released me once he was at least kind enough to make sure I'd found my footing. "Yeh know where ta find me if yeh decide yeh want any more 'o that," he said, giving me cocky wink before rejoining a sniggering Ragetti.

Barbossa dismissed the crew with but a single look, and then, chucking to himself again at the sight of me dragging my sleeve across my lips, walked away to his cabin.

I stormed through the cabin door after Barbossa, yanking it shut behind me as I fumed, irritated and humiliated at having to deliver a kiss of such intimate nature to one of his crew because of one of the characteristic loopholes he tended to weave into his accords.

"_You_," I started, hands on my hips as he leaned back against the table, arms folded across his chest and biting his lower lip a little to keep from laughing in front of me, "are the most exasperating, infuriating, indecent...sexist...underhanded...devious...erm..." I paused, too flustered to find the word I was looking for.

"Scoundrel?" he replied, clearly still amused.

"Yes!" I said emphatically.

"Ruffian?" he offered.

"Yes!"

"Rogue?"

"That too," I said, folding my own arms over my chest.

"I think yer jus' mad because you didn't get to kiss me," he said arrogantly.

"Oh, please," I snarled back. "If I had any desire to kiss you I would."

"Then have at it, lass," he said, clearly implying that I had the desire.

I huffed at him in exasperation. "Of all the improper...oh!" I fumed, barely resisting the urge to stomp my foot in frustration. "Vile man!"

He uncrossed his arms and leaned off the table, coming to where I was clearly pouting. "Have ye not heard the tales, lass?" he asked, managing to keep a straight face, but not the spark of amusement from his eyes.

"What tales?" I asked.

"That I be a man so evil that Hell itself spat me back out," he said, clearly amused by the mystique he'd gathered over the years.

I opened my mouth to make an unkind remark, and then thought better of it as years of practice at biting my tongue paid off. "You probably swindled the Devil himself to get out," I said, my voice softer than a moment before.

He chuckled softly and drew closer. "Nay, lass, I had a good reason to come back," he said, no longer sarcastic.

"And what would that be?" I asked very softly.

"You."

He reached out and touched my cheek very tenderly, and I knew I wasn't mad at him any longer. As was his wont, he tipped my chin up so that my eyes met his, and he leaned close, clearly to claim the kiss he'd been intent on having. I hadn't planned on resisting, but he surprised me when he hesitated, close enough so that I felt his breath against my lips. "May I?" he whispered, surprising me with a gentle request instead of just taking what he wanted.

"Yes," I heard myself answer, despite the fact that I was still debating whether or not it was a good idea. I quit half of the argument when his lips brushed mine, again surprisingly, in a tender, lingering way instead of the passionate manner I expected him to engage me with, and I kissed him back the same way.

When he withdrew and I opened my eyes, he appeared to be studying my face carefully, and then he smiled a little. "Ye have the same eyes as him," he said at last.

"As who?" I asked, not following along as I was contemplating kissing him again, despite the fact that I knew I shouldn't.

"Yer uncle," he said, and he led me to the table and pulled out the chair that would have been mine on the _Rogue_, and went to sit in his customary seat.

"My uncle?" I asked, frowning. I thought about it. All of the men in the Gray family had blue eyes the exact same shade as mine, likely passed down from my grandfather, but I couldn't figure out what had made Barbossa say such a thing. "Surely, you couldn't have met him?" My mind raced, trying to come up with how the two might have ever met.

"Met 'im?" Barbossa asked. "I sailed with 'im fer years, lass," he said, appearing to be speaking in earnest. "Ye've seen me handle a blade, have you not?"

"Yes, but..." I thought about it, and a sinking feeling started to crawl up on me. There were very few people that wielded a sword better than my uncle, and judging from Barbossa's technique and lightning-fast draw that I'd been witness to in Tortuga, he'd likely had similar training.

"We can't be talking about the same person," I protested, still.

"Jedediah has dark hair, mostly gray now, a goatee, stands six feet or slightly better…about the same as me," Barbossa explained. "He spent time in Japan, where he learned to handle a blade, and speaks with the same precise clipped accent as you do. You even laugh alike, now that I think on it."

There was no question he'd just described my uncle as if he'd been standing in the room with us, and I closed my eyes and prayed. "Please tell me you sailed with him before you turned pirate," I whispered.

"'Twas he who introduced me to Morgan," Barbossa replied, not giving me the answer I'd hoped for.

I was in denial, but only for a few more moments. Barbossa informing me that my uncle was in fact a pirate, and not a merchant sailor as I'd always thought as a girl growing up in Wiltshire, explained an awful lot of things that I'd not dwelt upon in my youth. Arguments with my grandfather...showing up at home with grievous battle scars once or twice...the fact that he was so proficient with a sword and a gun...more so than any honest sailor had a need to be.

I sighed, resignedly accepting the truth that I'd missed for so long. "Did you know him well?" I asked, at last.

"Aye. Good man and a good friend," Barbossa replied. "Fantastic swordsman. Used to irritate the hell out of 'im when I beat him and pinned him against a tree or mast by the throat. Is he well?"

"Yes," I replied, thinking back on the last letters I received from my family. "I wonder what he'll say when he finds out we know each other?"

Barbossa grinned wryly. "Probably have me head, or at least parts further south if he finds out I bedded his niece," he replied.

I gave him an exasperated look. "I hadn't planned on making that announcement to him," I said firmly, "and that was a long time ago."

"Aye, the first time," Barbossa replied dryly.

I scowled a bit. "Unless being dead has addled your brain, Hector, we only ever...well...you know..._once_," I reminded him.

Barbossa shrugged. "So far," he replied wickedly.

I sighed again in exasperation, wishing that the pirate's audacity wasn't so appealing to me in its own strange way. "I'm not even going to dignify that comment with a reply."

Barbossa laughed at me and got up and poured two measures of rum, returning to set one in front of me and be seated again.

"No, thank you," I said, eying the drink with significant misgivings.

"'Tis only a splash," he said. "'Twill loosen you up after shooting."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I said, pushing the rum away a bit, and Barbossa chuckled at my reference to my uninhibited behavior from two nights before.

He pushed the rum back at me. "Go on. Yeh know me well enough by now to understand that I'd not put you at a disadvantage that way intentionally."

"No?" I asked, giving in and having a tiny sip of rum.

"Course not," he said, contemplating the depths of his own drink for a moment. "Besides, I've not had difficulty gettin' yeh in me bed yet."

I turned my head, trying to keep him from seeing the smile that I was struggling to hide and the red flush of my cheeks. While nothing had actually happened between us, for one reason or another, I'd managed to end up in his bed three nights in a row.

"Admit it," he said, taking another swig of rum, "you like keepin' company with me."

"Must I?" I teased, causing him to grin.

"Aye," he demanded softly.

I gave in. "Alright, yes," I said.

"Admit somethin' else fer me," he requested, gazing into the depths of his rum.

"What?" I asked, taking a bigger sip of mine, as I had a feeling I was going to need it to answer his question.

"You like bein' near me," he suggested, watching while I debated if I should be honest any longer. He said my name, prompting me when I didn't answer. "Madeline?"

"Yes."

"Somethin' else, then," he said, pressing onward.

"What?" I asked warily, noting that he still watched the rum he was swirling around the bottom of his cup and was not looking at me. It took him a moment to ask his next question, but when he did so it was in a steady voice without hesitation.

"Hypothetically speakin', if yer lieutenant weren't involved," he began, as I quickly downed the rest of my rum to brace myself, "would ye be opposed to me takin' you to bed?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked, becoming flustered.

"Answer me."

"In general, or right now?" I croaked, stalling my answer.

A wry smile played across his lips. "Right now, if ye like."

"Hypothetically speaking, right?" I asked, panicking.

"Aye." He watched me with that unblinking blue gaze that could be so mesmerizing or intimidating, depending on his mood.

"I don't understand the point of your question," I said, clearly becoming upset.

He shrugged and downed the rest of his rum. "'Tis but a curiosity," he replied quietly. "Ye have a tendency to be more'n a bit preoccupied with the matter, after goin' twelve years without, and cursed to be obsessed with it fer ten."

I frowned, and clearly my expression gave away what I was thinking.

"What?" he asked.

"You've gone without for twelve years?" I asked, unable to believe that I was curious enough to actually ask the question.

He sighed heavily. "The curse'd not allow fer hoistin' of one's topsail, despite the constant desire," he replied, looking like he'd rather not have answered.

"No, I understand that," I said, "but from what I gather, it's been nearly two years since the curse ended." I paused for a moment. "You haven't been with another woman in all that time?"

Barbossa shook his head, giving me a tiny wry smile. "No, pleasurable company or otherwise."

"Why?" I asked him, and the meaningful look he gave me was all the answer I needed. "Oh."

"Have you?" Barbossa asked, causing my face to turn red again.

"What?" I asked, praying he really didn't expect me to answer.

"Been with a woman in the last two years?" he asked, and his unexpected question diffused the situation at last as I burst out laughing.

"Of course not!" I said, watching him grin at the fact that he'd made me laugh.

"Another man, then?" he asked. "Yer lieutenant, perhaps?"

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" I asked him.

He thought it over for a moment. "Aye," he said evenly.

"No," I said softly, and I was pretty sure he let out a tiny sigh of relief. Silence reigned in the cabin for a few moments, and I contemplated how odd it was that I found myself discussing my sex life, or lack thereof, with the pirate in my company. I continued to think for a moment before speaking to him again. "It must have been awful," I said.

"Aye," he said, seeming distant as he stared at the table without really seeing it, "that it was, lass."

I decided not to press him further for details, realizing that if he wanted to talk about it with me he eventually would.

"You know," he said, still staring at the table, "what I wanted the most by the end of ten years?"

"What?" I asked, reaching across and putting my hand over his.

"Water," he said, simply. "A glass of water and a piece of me mum's apple pie." He gestured at the customary bowl of apples that he kept on the table. "That be the closest I could get to it, and even that I couldn't have."

I gripped his hand tighter as he spoke. "And, I would have died a happy man if I'd had but one moment that I could hold you, and actually feel how soft and warm ye be, smelled yer hair, felt yer touch on my face." His expression appeared slightly haunted, as if he were reliving the extreme desires for a minute. "I'd not have needed anythin' else but that."

He must have noticed the tears in my eyes and made an attempt to lighten the situation again, being unaccustomed to baring his most intimate feelings and thoughts. "Of course, I'd have preferred ye be naked," he said, giving me a sad smile that couldn't quite make it into a wry grin.

"Of course," I whispered, smiling weakly and wiping at the tears on my face. I marveled at the range of emotions I'd been through just over the three days since I'd found out Barbossa was even alive, and I thought to myself, not for the first time, and not for the last, that for good or bad, the man who's hand I was holding was a lot of things all at once.

~o~

Barbossa had decided at that moment that he had things to tend to on deck, and when we parted company again, I made my way determinedly toward the holds. It took me a while to search out what I was looking for, and I got a few strange looks when I rummaged through a lot of what had been taken from the _Essex_. Although it took me a while to find the things I was seeking, and involved several trips to the galley and back to the holds, and one more back to Barbossa's cabin, I finally completed most of my quest.

I needed one more thing, and I hoped I would find it where the few livestock were kept on board. Sure enough, after peering at the score of laying hens kept in crates near where several goats were penned up, I found what I needed.

"Hello, handsome," I said, pulling the rooster out of a top crate. "My apologies, but you just aren't as useful as the ladies, here," I said, taking him topside. He would have struggled more if he knew how it was that I was about to make him more useful at that moment.

It took me a while to pluck him, and I opened him up and tossed his entrails over the side to chase after where I'd thrown his head and feet. Clutching my hard-won, dimply, naked prize, I carried him below to the stew pot and bottle of wine I had waiting.

The crew wouldn't be happy with me that night, as I'd managed to bribe Hamlyn, the cook, into letting me have the galley to myself with the remainder of the bottle of wine, and there were a lot of hungry pirates who were irritated with him later for serving dinner so late.

It might not have been so bad if the smell of Coq au vin didn't permeate nearly the entire ship, and it was more than one curious pirate that I had to chase off with threats of incurring Barbossa's displeasure, and education about just what an orchiectomy was and how fast I could perform one when those ceased to work.

Ragetti poked his head in at one point, and stared at where I had flour all over the front of me, and was using an empty rum bottle as a rolling pin. "What's that smell?" he asked, watching me working, and then glancing at the apples I'd cut up on the table in front of me. "Is that going to be pie?" he asked, nearly salivating as he didn't even let me answer his first question.

"Yes," I said, "and Coq au vin...stewed chicken with wine."

"Really?" he asked longingly.

I put down my makeshift rolling pin. "Tell you what, Ragetti. You bring me a cask of the freshest water stolen off that ship, and I'll put aside a bowl of dinner for you, but you can't tell anyone I did."

"Dessert too?" he asked, negotiating the price of his services higher.

"You're not getting the first piece, but I promise to save you one," I replied, returning to my work.

"Don' 'ave to guess hard at who's gettin' the firs piece," he said, teasing. "Be a shame if'n he found out you were makin' this ahead of time."

As nice as Ragetti can be, he's still a pirate, and I had to promise him an extra large piece to buy his silence.

I picked up the tin imprinted with the word 'cinnamon' on it, and glanced at the EITC logo stamped into the container. I surmised that Barbossa would forgive me using it since it was stolen, and I dusted the apples and sugar in the crust with it.

I had to remain vigilantly in the galley while the pie baked and my friend the rooster finished stewing, mostly to fend off curious hungry pirates, but also to ensure that my pie didn't burn. I felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the last pie I'd so carefully baked, but I managed to keep myself occupied with cleaning up, and once I let the cook have his galley back, it was in a lot better condition than when I'd found it.

By the time I'd renegotiated for a quarter of the cooling pie, I'd managed to convince Ragetti to stand guard in the galley while I made several trips to the cabin to set the table with plates and candles, and bring up a covered platter of Coq au vin as well as a large pitcher of fresh water. The pie I managed to stash in the bedroom, covered by my riding coat so Barbossa wouldn't see it.

I sent Ragetti to tell Barbossa that I was looking for him, and had to argue with him about saving more of the pie for him. Ragetti finally gave in, content with dinner and a quarter of the pie to be delivered later, and I hurried to go and brush off the flour more thoroughly, and combed out my hair, deciding to wear it down, just as I heard the cabin door shut.

~o~

**A/N: **An orchiectomy, as you may have surmised, is the surgical term for castration.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Infamous hat poll update: 9 votes no, 89 votes yes!

~o~

**Chapter Seventeen ~*~**

~o~

_By the time I'd renegotiated for a quarter of the cooling pie, I'd managed to convince Ragetti to stand guard in the galley while I made several trips to the cabin to set the table with plates and candles, and bring up a covered platter of Coq au vin as well as a large pitcher of fresh water. The pie I managed to stash in the bedroom, covered by my riding coat so Barbossa wouldn't see it._

_I sent Ragetti to tell Barbossa that I was looking for him, and had to argue with him about saving more of the pie for him. Ragetti finally gave in, content with dinner and a quarter of the pie to be delivered later, and I hurried to go and brush off the flour more thoroughly, and combed out my hair, deciding to wear it down, just as I heard the cabin door shut._

_~o~_

A minute or two had gone by out in the main cabin without any word from Barbossa, and I when I went to the doorway, he was standing at the end of the table, arms folded across his chest and brow furrowed in thought as he surveyed the way I had set the table. He glanced at where I stood, still saying nothing, and then his gaze swept back across the table. "What is this?" he asked, his tone of voice unreadable.

"Dinner," I replied, crossing to the table and pouring two goblets of the wine I had opened, sans gun. I walked to where he still stood, puzzling over what I had done, and offered him one of the goblets.

He took it, had a sip, and then pulled out my chair for me before sitting where he customarily did. "Why?" he asked, indicating the plates, candles and covered platter on the table.

"I was just trying to be nice," I said in reply. "When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

He shook his head. "Couldn't tell ye."

I smiled at him. "Well," I said, taking his plate and then serving up some of my ill-fated rooster friend, "you will have to tell me if my Coq au vin compares to Jerome's." I handed him the plate back.

"I hope it does," he said, savoring the smell of the stewed chicken. "That alone would be reason enough to keep you on board indefinitely."

I ignored his comment, but waited while he tried the meal I'd prepared, unable to eat any myself until I saw his reaction. He stopped just before putting it in his mouth and glanced over at the way I was watching him expectantly.

"Huh, so that be how it feels," he said, a small grin starting to make its way across his face.

"How what feels?" I asked, puzzled by his statement. I knew his next comment was going to be meant to tease me as soon as I saw the expression in his eyes.

"How a man must feel the first time his new bride cooks for him and he watches her fret 'bout his reaction to her skill in the kitchen." He took a bite even as I felt my face grow warm at a comment of his for the thousandth time. "Or lack thereof," he finished as he chewed.

I panicked at the addendum to his statement. "Is...is it alright?" I asked, not realizing until that moment just how very much I'd wanted to please him.

He shrugged, and my heart sank. "I dunno, mayhap ye'll cook fer me again tomorrow and the night after, and the night after that, so I can better judge yer skill in the kitchen compared to the surgery," he said wryly, and I knew he was just tormenting me as usual.

By that point I realized that he was digging in enthusiastically and I smiled, thrilled that he apparently appreciated my efforts.

"This be the best thing I've had, well, in twelve years, I reckon," he said, causing me to smile at him again, even as I served myself dinner.

"Huh."

"Huh -what?" I asked, once again.

"I'm wonderin' if that be the way a new bride looks the first time she's complemented by her husband," he said, fastening that endless blue stare on me.

"I'm quite sure I wouldn't know," I replied, looking away quickly and tending to my own dinner. I wasn't sure if he was managing to jab at the fact that I was due to be married, or if he was genuinely being thoughtful and sweet about the matter. I settled on believing that it was probably both, knowing Barbossa, and I chose to change the subject.

"When will we make it to Port Calais?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Late tomorrow," he replied with his mouth full, still attacking dinner with apparent gusto, to my great satisfaction. "I have business there anyway, so ye'll have a day or two to decide which version of yer letter ye need send."

I frowned, unhappy at being reminded of the unpleasant decision I needed to make, and ate in silence for the next few minutes. It was only when Barbossa made as if to help himself to a second helping of dinner that I perked up a bit again. "Here," I said, taking his plate from him and serving him again, unsure why it was I did so, but wanting to do it nonetheless. "I have to remember to put aside enough dinner for Ragetti."

"Ragetti?" he asked, taking the plate I handed back to him.

"My accomplice. He guarded the kitchen for me while I set the table, but at a price," I said, laughing a little.

"That price being dinner?" he asked.

"Yes, and..." I caught myself just before saying _'pie'_, glad that I did so as I wanted to keep it a surprise still.

"_And_?" Barbossa asked, waiting for me to clarify my half statement.

"I'm sharing his bunk tonight," I replied, having no idea what possessed me to say such a thing, even as the words passed my lips. I guess I wasn't feeling opposed to giving Barbossa a taste of his own medicine, so to speak.

Barbossa raised an eyebrow at my comment, more surprised that I would joke about such a thing, than concerned it might be true. "Are we startin' that again?" he asked, unconcerned and working on polishing off his seconds on dinner.

I felt my brow furrow. "Starting what?" I asked.

He gestured at me with his fork. "You tryin' to sleep with me whole crew." I could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face at my exasperated expression.

"Honestly, Hector, that was twelve years ago," I said. "You know Bellamy was a mistake and that I never felt about him the way I felt about you."

"Ye never made that up to me properly, if yeh ask my opinion," he said, eyeing what was left of dinner.

"Well, consider dinner compensation for my transgression," I said, rolling my eyes at him a bit. "I wouldn't," I added, indicating where he was about to help himself to more.

"There be plenty left fer Master Ragetti," he protested, and I had to take the plate out of his hands to stop him.

"As flattered as I am that you're considering indulging in more of my cooking," I said, with a genuinely pleased smile, "I have something else that you might be very interested in before you stuff yourself completely."

"Ah," he said, blatantly looking me over in a way that said he hoped my next temptation for him had nothing to do with food, "that be a fine idea indeed, Miss Gray."

"That is _not_ what I meant," I scolded him, having been prepared for such a response from him by that point. "Is that all you think about?"

"After twelve years? Aye, pretty much, lass," he said, only half joking, I surmised from the way he said it. "Especially when such a beautiful woman be only an arm's reach away."

"Flattery will get you no further, Captain," I replied steadfastly, pleased by his compliment and the way he was watching me, despite myself. I cleared the rest of the table.

"Now," I said, "close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just do it, please," I replied.

"Will ye be parted from yer dress when I open them?" he asked hopefully.

"Hector!" I scolded him again.

He huffed at me in mock frustration and finally complied. "Where are you goin'?" he asked, when he heard me leaving the room.

"The bedroom," I answered, as I went to fetch my surprise.

"And then will ye be naked?" he called to me.

"Stop that! No!" I said back, trying to keep the laugh out of my voice, as I didn't want to encourage him any further.

"Well," he said, clearly pouting, "I'll wager there's naught else that ye might have that'd catch my interest."

"Just what are you willing to wager?" I called back out to him.

"This'll not involve yeh removin' clothin' of any sort?" he called back for clarification.

"None."

"Loosenin' a few buttons, mayhap?" he asked next.

"No!" I exclaimed, covering my mouth so he wouldn't hear me laugh.

"One?"

"Stop it!" I admonished him again, but I could hear him chuckling to himself in the next room, amused that he was riling me. "Are you ready or not?"

"Been ready fer twelve years," I heard him mutter, and I knew what he implied but chose to ignore him.

I had draped a napkin over the pie and carried it out to the table, already beaming because I knew he was going to be surprised.

"What be that?" he asked, feigning indifference, an arm draped casually over the back of his chair.

"Dessert," I replied, not saying any more than I had to.

"Dessert?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "Truly?"

"Yes."

"Well, since ye went to such trouble, I may as well have a look," he said, heaving a sigh of mock resignation.

I set the pie down in front of him and unveiled it, but I never expected the way his expression would instantly harden nor the sharp tone he would take with me. "What's this?" he demanded quietly.

"Well, I should think that it would be obvious that it's pie," I said, starting to be concerned about his reaction.

"Pie?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Yes...apple." I didn't know what else to say at the way he appeared to be becoming visibly agitated.

He stared at the apparently offensive dessert a moment longer, and then stood abruptly, turning away and going to stand before the cabin's windows, his arms folded across his chest. He left me standing there at a loss, wondering what I'd done to offend him so much.

"Hector," I started quietly.

"Why did ye do this?" he asked me in a strained whisper.

"I thought...I thought it would be something that you'd like," I replied hesitantly. "You said the one thing you would have liked the most..."

"Why did ye do it?" he asked again, his voice hushed and hoarse.

"I wanted to do something nice for you," I replied, starting to feel like I might cry. I had only intended for my actions to be a gesture of kindness and affection, and hadn't expected that he'd find what I'd done hurtful. "I'm sorry. I never meant to upset you."

He must have heard the tears that were starting in my voice, and he turned and stared at me steadily for a moment.

"I'm sorry," I said again, through my tears. He said nothing, and I decided that it would be best if I left the cabin. I turned quickly to flee, and he spoke again in a hushed whisper.

"Madeline?"

I stopped before I reached the door.

"Come here," he ordered me, but it was very gently that he did so, and I approached him warily as I wiped my cheeks. When I stood next to him, he turned and faced me, and his eyes told me everything he couldn't say at that moment as he held out his hand for mine as he'd done two nights before. I placed my hand in his and he closed his fingers and drew me to him, pulling me into a tight embrace, which I didn't resist.

"Thankee, lass," he whispered in my hair. "I'd not meant fer you to think me angry. It's just..." He sighed and said nothing for a moment while I waited patiently for him to finish. I'd hoped that my act of kindness would please him, but I never expected that the abrupt and intense emotion it would elicit from him would overwhelm him so.

"A long time it's been since I've had someone do somethin' nice like that fer me; I reckon I ought not be so surprised, knowin' ye the way I do."

"It's just a pie, Hector," I said quietly, from where I had my head tucked under his chin.

"Nay, lass, 'tis a greater gift than ye know," he replied very tenderly.

After a moment, he began to let go, and I discovered that I really didn't want him to. "Don't," I whispered, clinging to him, and he obliged by pulling me closer for a long moment.

When that moment had passed, he whispered in my hair again. "While I can think of nothin' I'd like better than to be here with ye -I'll wager that pie's still warm, judgin' by how fine it smells."

I smiled up at him, and gently disengaged myself from his embrace. "So, I have found something else to tempt you with," I said as he sat down. I suddenly realized I'd not brought anything to cut the pie with, but upon seeing my hesitation, Barbossa recognized my predicament and handed me his dagger.

I thought he was watching me cut the pie as I did so, but when I went to hand him the first piece, I realized he'd been watching my face the whole time. "What?" I asked quietly.

He gave me a rare genuine smile. "Nothin'," he said, and he turned his attention to the plate I handed him.

Once again, I found myself watching him, anticipating how he might react, hands pressed together and against my lips. When he said nothing, and looked a little distant while he chewed, I finally had to ask his opinion. "Well?"

He took his time answering me, having another bite before doing so. "Ye must realize I can never let you set foot off me ship again, if you can make pie like this."

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face at having succeeded in my intentions.

"It's alright, then?" I asked, unable to help but want to hear again that he liked it.

"Aye, nearly as good as me mum's," he replied with a smile.

"Well, I shall take that as a very great compliment," I said happily.

"And well ye should, lass. I intend to make short work of the rest this evenin'," he said, cutting himself a second piece before his first was completely gone.

"I promised some to Ragetti," I said.

"I thought ye to be sharin' his bunk?" Barbossa asked, sitting back in his chair with a look of great contentment and his plate full of pie.

"I actually promised him dinner and pie," I explained, helping myself to a small piece.

"Some of _my_ pie?" he asked, feigning offense.

"Yes, he drives a hard bargain," I said, chewing and thinking over if I'd do anything different with the next pie.

"Out of the question," Barbossa replied with an irritated wave of his hand. "Tell 'im he'll have to settle fer you warmin' 'is bed."

"What?" I asked incredulously.

"In place of pie," Barbossa explained. "I'm not willin' to part with any of this."

"But you'd part with me instead?" I asked, trying to act horrified, but likely smiling too much to be convincing.

"'Tis only fer one evenin', lass," Barbossa replied, trying to keep a straight face.

I threw my napkin at him. "Monster."

~o~

I'd gotten up and left the cabin after that, deciding that I had better hold up my end of the bargain sooner rather than later, while there was still actually pie left, and when I brought the food I'd promised Ragetti back to the galley under disguise of returning dirty dishes, he was already waiting for me, sitting on a countertop picking his nails with a dagger.

He didn't waste any time digging in, and I left him contentedly engrossed in his first experience with French cuisine; two large pieces of pie waiting next to him.

When I got back to the cabin, Barbossa had abandoned the formalities of cutting and serving another piece of pie, and had just taken to digging into the rest with his fork. "How many apples," he began, mouth full of pie, "does it take ye to make this?"

I shrugged. "Half a dozen, I suppose."

"Ah, well thankfully there be enough left fer you to make another pie tomorrow," he said, shoveling in another bite.

"Another!" I said with mock exasperation. "Do you know how long pie takes?"

"About six hours," he replied, more to himself than to me, and he chuckled. He knew I wouldn't understand and he explained once I was seated next to him once more.

"'Twas a game I played with me mother when I was young," he said, offering me a rare glimpse into his early life. "She knew this to be me favorite, and would often tell me 'twould be six or seven hours before her pie was ready, just to tease."

"So, that's where you get your inclination to torment," I said, realizing his playful side that manifested on occasion was probably inherited from his mother.

"One birthday, she actually hid the pie in the shed and acted as if she'd not bothered to make one fer me," he said, smiling at the memory. "Amused herself fer a good hour before I found where she'd hidden it."

"I take it you didn't believe her," I said, smiling at the story.

"Nay...she indulged me terribly...baked fer me constantly. How she managed to put enough food on the table to feed a growin' lad with an appetite like that, I'll never know," he said, at last pushing the pie away and sitting back in his chair with a contented sigh.

I could tell he was lost in his thoughts about her, and I risked intruding on them to see if he would tell me things I'd wondered about him. "How old were you when she died?" I asked softly.

"Twenty," he replied, seemingly unsurprised by the question.

"Had she been ill long?" I asked, assuming that like my mother, she had died from disease or natural causes.

"No."

Something in the way he spoke the one word told me there was a lot of pain behind it, even after so many years. "Would you tell me?" I asked again very gently.

He met my eyes for a long moment, the pain I could hear in his voice haunting his. "Fire," was all he managed to say.

"Oh, Hector, I didn't know," I said, sympathy for what he must have gone through welling up quickly.

"I was at sea," he went on in a hoarse whisper, "flirtin' with piratin', full of meself and after adventure." He paused and then continued. "There was a storm in Padstow...lightnin' struck the church.

"No one got out," he said after a moment.

"I'm so sorry," I said, feeling my own eyes sting with tears.

He tried to wave the matter off. "She's been gone now longer than I knew her when she was alive."

"How well I know that will never lessen how much you love her," I said, knowing it to be true after losing my mother so many years before.

"Aye," he said, giving me a sad smile.

"What was her name?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood in the cabin a little, but still wanting the opportunity to find out more about the family he'd barely mentioned in the past.

"Beryan," he replied.

"That's lovely," I said, genuinely thinking so.

"Aye, as was she," he said. "One of the two finest ladies I've known in me life...aside from me lovely _Pearl_, here." We were both quiet for a moment, lost in our own thought when he spoke again, and his voice was somewhat more cheerful.

"She'd have liked you, Madeline," he said. "She'd have thought ye to be good fer me...potentially keep me out of trouble."

"You're more trouble than any single woman alive could manage," I said affectionately.

"Aye, that be true," he replied, letting just a trace of charming arrogance back in his manner, "but methinks ye like a challenge or two in yer life, Doctor."

"Well, you'd certainly qualify as that," I said, and he smiled.

"Might I ask somethin' else of ye? Somethin' I have no right to?" he asked quietly.

"Since when would not having the right stop you?" I asked, teasing again.

"Never," he said with a sly smile. "There be somethin' besides pie that I..."

"I completely understand," I said softly, "and I'm not at all opposed to letting you have what you wanted."

"No?" he asked incredulously.

"Not at all," I said, knowing I had him hooked.

"Well, then perhaps we should retire to the bedroom, lass," he said gently, obviously heading along a completely different line of thought, and I let him continue.

"The bedroom?" I asked sweetly. "I think right here on the table should be sufficient."

"The...the _table_?"

"Yes," I said, leading him on, "unless that seems unusual to you for some reason. I should think that would be a likely place for a pirate to want it."

I could tell he was struggling to understand my newfound enthusiasm. "If that's what ye think. I'd not be completely opposed, I reckon."

"Good," I said as he stood, doing likewise and closing in on him with a sultry whisper. "So...right here...right now...on this table?"

I think he actually looked like he was going to faint with relief at my apparent compliance, and he stepped closer. "Aye," he said, looking like his mind had firmly entered one line of thought only by then as his gaze went to my lips.

"Perfect," I said, and I turned and poured him a glass of water and thumped it down meaningfully in front of him on the table, trying not to giggle as I did so.

The puzzled look that crossed Barbossa's face was priceless, but the look that followed when he realized that I'd been speaking of the glass of water all along and not other matters, was worth the trouble I knew I was about to find myself in.

Slow realization dawned on my pirate companion, and he hung his head for a moment, trying to hide the smile he couldn't prevent at the thought that he'd been had. He finally looked up at where I had a hand over my mouth, trying to suppress my laughter.

"Well played, lass," he said wryly.

"It's no less than you deserve," I replied, completely amused that I'd managed to outwit him for once.

"Ye wound me, woman," he said, hand over his heart in mock distress. "Crushed...devastated I am that ye make light of my intentions to bestow me affections on you."

"My arse," I said softly, eliciting another smile from him. "You were ready to do your best to rid yourself of ten years of unsatisfied lust with me on that table just now..."

"Twelve years, and I fail to see the trouble with that; it was yer idea," he said, closing the distance between us.

"I was speaking of the water - it's not my fault if you're preoccupied," I said.

"Ah, but it be entirely yer fault that I'm preoccupied," he replied, reaching out to run his fingers through my hair. "Fer twelve years, I've been preoccupied."

I stood there very close to him, waiting quietly while he let the handful of my hair slip through his fingers. "Why didn't you let me know you were alive?" I asked him, not really sure where the question had come from. "After the curse."

"Well, lass, bein' dead takes a bit o' wind outta yer sails, and it took me some time to recover," he said, still touching my hair. "As fer the trip to World's End? I opted not to let ye know I be alive, as the odds were better'n even fer me not comin' back."

"I see," I said quietly, understanding that the last thing he wanted to do was to let me know he'd survived the curse, been brought back from the dead, and then perish in the maelstrom or Locker. I reached out and toyed with the medallion he usually wore around his neck. "Will you tell me how it is that you _came back_?" My voice was nearly a whisper.

"Aye," he replied softly, laying his strong fingers over mine and pressed them to his heart, "but not this night."

~o~


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **This chapter starts to heat things back up between our pirate captain and his ship's doctor again. The second half is a bit of a different style depicting May's thoughts on what to do about him. I hope it's effective.

~o~

**Chapter Eighteen **

~o~

_I stood there very close to him, waiting quietly while he let the handful of my hair slip through his fingers. "Why didn't you let me know you were alive?" I asked him, not really sure where the question had come from. "After the curse."_

_"Well, lass, bein' dead takes a bit o' wind outta yer sails, and it took me some time to recover," he said, still touching my hair. "As fer the trip to World's End? I opted not to let ye know I be alive, as the odds were better'n even fer me not comin' back."_

_"I see," I said quietly, understanding that the last thing he wanted to do was to let me know he'd survived the curse, been brought back from the dead, and then perish in the maelstrom or Locker. I reached out and toyed with the medallion he usually wore around his neck. "Will you tell me how it is that you came back?" My voice was nearly a whisper._

_"Aye," he replied softly, laying his strong fingers over mine and pressed them to his heart, "but not this night."_

_~o~_

I knew we had suddenly entered dangerous waters by the tone of his voice, and I felt a momentary panic rise within me as he took my hand away from his chest and raised it to his lips, kissing my fingers lightly as his eyes stayed fastened on mine. Feeling my resolve to avoid anything physical between us weakening, the small part of my logical brain that hadn't yet abandoned me made one last attempt at reasoning with the rest.

It tried to convince me that I was a grown woman; an educated and learned doctor of medicine with a fair bit of life experience behind her, and not some impressionable and naive girl. It told me I was practiced in dealing with any number of difficult situations adeptly: the arrival of life, the threat of death, trauma, emergency, crisis of all sorts. It reasoned that I was strong, determined and committed, and that if I could handle the things I faced in my everyday life, I could certainly handle dealing with the man kissing my hand.

My feeble logic center argued that it was a small matter to pleasantly and firmly say no, and then simply walk away and expect that he'd have to respect my decision or risk offending me, but when he drew me in closer by the hand he held, and slid the strong fingers that had been toying with my hair, across the back of my neck to hold me in place, that voice of reason suddenly faltered, developing, I believe, an acute case of laryngitis.

When Barbossa saw that I was making no attempt at resisting, despite the fact that my mute voice of reason was frantically trying to tug back in place the shredded fabric of my resolve, he fastened that endless blue gaze on me, slowly reeling me in. When he dropped his voice and spoke some sweet nothing in husky Portuguese, (perhaps, for all I know, telling me I smelled like sheep, it mattered not) my poor voice of reason, having dug her heels in to hang onto the last unraveling thread of my willpower, found herself abruptly on her arse when that strand snapped.

She might have made one last valiant attempt at rescue, had it not been for the fact that Barbossa leaned down close to breathe near my ear, the softest of whispers, saying, 'Share this night with me, M'lady,' and my voice of reason never gained her feet again.

When his mouth pressed over mine, stealing the kiss he desired, I felt my arms go around his neck, and my longing heart and willing body stampeded over my defeated voice of reason, grinding her into the dust for good.

I believe that it has been more than once that I've written that Barbossa is a shrewd and cunning pirate, and he was smart enough to keep the moment under control, not letting things escalate too fast to the point where he might have frightened me off. He held me gently, making me feel that I could actually pull away whenever I wanted, and he kissed me repeatedly but lightly; some of them being little more than his lips brushing fleetingly across mine, and he let the moment linger on unhurried, while he slowly, steadily, pulled me into deeper waters.

I found the way he kissed me maddening; a dozen feathery light kisses only drove me to pull him closer, seeking something more passionate, and I could tell he smiled through the kiss even as I reached up and pressed my lips more firmly against his.

"Easy, lass," he whispered when he gently pulled away, and he kissed my cheek, and then the edge of my jaw, working his way to my throat, where he lightly caressed the sensitive skin there with his lips, tickling me a little with his beard in a delicious way.

I thought him being tender and affectionate at that moment, and I am sure to a great extent that it was true, but looking back now, I can see how skillfully he again manipulated me, knowing that if he let things heat slowly and was patient, that there was a greater likelihood of me ending up in his bed than if he'd been too insistent.

I suppose that I should have been surprised at myself for letting things start to spiral out of control after only being back in Barbossa's company for a handful of days, but a combination of longing to see him again for ten years, combined with the joy at discovering he was alive, along with the intense emotions I'd been experiencing because of him for the past few days, led me to seek his embrace with more and more fervor.

I admit that I am slightly embarrassed to say that my lack of intimate contact with a man since the night I'd spent with him only provided me with my own significant burden of desire, and that I was at a disadvantage to resist by knowing already, how skillfully my older companion had last tended those needs.

Finally, Barbossa began kissing my neck with more intensity, and my pulse raced along, drowning out the meek voice that tried to get my attention from the dust. My voice of reason, with a last dying breath, gasped out Jonathan's name, but the fact that simultaneously Barbossa began nibbling my ear and undoing the first button on my dress, served to shove her face back into the dust before she could utter all three syllables. I admit that Port Royal, and Jonathan Groves seemed very far away indeed at that moment.

I barely realized, with the intense way that Barbossa returned to kissing me, that he'd slowly managed to move us along to the bedside, and several buttons later, he'd undone enough of my dress that he managed to slide it off one shoulder. After caressing the skin that he'd exposed with his fingers, he took to kissing me there, and began tracing a trail of enticing, hungry kisses along my collarbone, and then lower to where he was undoing more buttons rather quickly.

His lips were pressed against the faintest remnant of the hairline scar that trailed down the center of my chest, when an urgent knock at the cabin door caught our attention. "It's locked," he whispered, undoing another button and exposing more delicate skin as he placed one knee against the bed and bent my body back gently but insistently, starting to lie me down on his pillow.

Another more urgent knock came at the cabin door, and he paused midway through the kisses he was tracing across the inner curve of my breast.

"That," he said, raising his head and snarling fiercely in the direction of the cabin door, "had better be the fuckin' King of England." He let go of me, furious at the interruption, and left me quickly doing up buttons and smoothing out my hair as he stormed to the door.

I admit that I was less than pleased at the disruption myself, but I also confess that my sympathy went out to whichever hapless soul was unfortunate enough to be knocking on the door.

"Cap'n?" Gibbs' muffled but urgent voice could be heard from the other side, and I will refrain from repeating exactly what Barbossa was muttering he'd do to the poor man once he managed to get the door open.

Barbossa nearly plowed Gibbs down with the way he shoved open the door. "What is it, Master Gibbs?" he snarled, clearly most displeased, which was never a good thing as far as the crew were concerned.

Poor Gibbs glanced uneasily at the look on Barbossa's face, then beyond him to where I had stepped back into the main cabin from the bedchamber, and then back to Barbossa, realizing what he'd likely interrupted and knowing his future would be very brief if he didn't have a good reason for the disruption. Fortunately he did.

"Apologies, Cap'n," he croaked, swallowing hard and taking one step back as Barbossa exited the cabin, "but I thought best to let yeh know about the ship."

"What ship?" Barbossa demanded as I joined him at the door.

Gibbs merely turned and pointed across the deck of the _Pearl _to where a large column of smoke was rising against the setting sun from what had once been a large three masted ship, but was now a scattered, burning disaster.

I followed along close behind as Barbossa went to the port rail to get a better look at what was left of the ship. "There might be enough left to risk a closer look," he said after a moment.

"A battle, sir?" Gibbs asked after likewise scrutinizing the wreckage.

"Aye," Barbossa replied, "so 'twould seem."

He discussed the matter with Gibbs for a few moments longer, debating about exploring the wreckage to see if there might be anything useful worth salvaging, and as he did so I had the chance to reflect on what had been happening in the cabin before Gibbs had knocked.

Whether it was a good thing or not, by then my voice of reason seemed to have been resurrected, and she nagged me, scolding me harshly for nearly betraying the promise I'd made to my fiancée. I gazed upon the terrible scene in front of me- my ardor from a few moments prior rapidly dissipating as guilt took its place, and I scanned the floating wreckage, complete with several bobbing corpses.

I recalled several instances when the man I'd just been passionately involved with had been responsible for such chaos and destruction, and my voice of reason, riled because of the ungrateful way she'd been earlier treated, wielded those memories like a switch rapped across my knuckles. Once more I found myself at a loss, unsure why it was exactly that I could be in love with a man capable of the things that Barbossa was capable of.

The trouble remained that I knew I was in love with him, and had been for a very, very long time. I sighed, watching as he finished consulting with Gibbs and began barking orders for a boat to be lowered and the men to see if there was anything to be gained from the dying ship before she became so waterlogged that she sank beneath the surface. When things had been set in motion as he wished, he turned to me and drew me off to one side.

"Apologies fer the interruption, lass," he said softly, trailing one black nailed finger across my cheek tenderly, and then coming to stand next to me with his arms folded across his chest as he waited to see what would come from his crew exploring the ship.

I said nothing, in part because I was curious as to what the crew might return with, and in part because my voice of reason had taken me firmly by the ear and was insisting that I do nothing to encourage anything from him that might increase the likelihood that I could still end up in his bed that night.

"I think I might retire early," I said to where he stood next to me, thinking to escape the situation temporarily.

"Aye, lass," he said quietly, not looking at me, "feel free to use me cabin. I'll not be long."

I hadn't meant for him to think that I'd planned on returning to our earlier encounter, and I felt entirely awkward letting him know. "I think I'll just use my own."

He said nothing, and remained focused on the longboat that had made it to the wreckage, without so much as a sideways glance in my direction, but I could tell he was unhappy by the way he set his jaw and then merely nodded once to indicate he'd heard me.

Realizing that I'd wounded him, I felt guilty again and tried to say something. "Hector," I started quietly. I said nothing else when he turned, and that steely stare met me with the message that he wasn't discussing the matter and that he was clearly displeased.

When I'd made it to the tiny cabin I'd not yet even used, it was with a fair amount of distress on my part. The constant emotional upheaval of my thoughts and feelings since the night I'd found Barbossa in my house, back from the dead and intent on rekindling a decade old romance, was taking its toll on me.

I knew what I wanted, that was simple enough, but the problem I faced was that my voice of reason was once again relentlessly assaulting me with the charge that I shouldn't want such a thing. She harped that it wasn't right, it was unthinkable, improper, scandalous and wicked, and that not only would I be breaking Jonathan's heart by wanting such a thing, I'd be breaking the law.

It occurred to me then, that I'd likely already broken both, and that like it or not, it might be said the _Black Pearl_ once more had a woman pirate on board.

~o~

"Petite sotte. Qu'as-tu donc fait? Franchement, Madeline, parfois je ne sais pas ce qui te passe par la tête." (Foolish girl. Now what have you done? Honestly, Madeline, I do not know where you get your sensibilities sometimes.)

I could all but hear my mother's voice in my head, scolding me for what she perceived to be some irrational act on my part. In truth, my mother, were she alive, would not be pleased at all with my current situation, but that didn't mean that my voice of reason needed to stoop so low as to invoke my mother's frustration with my tendency to act on passion and instinct rather than logic at times.

Pleased with the effect my mother's theoretical opinion had on me, my voice of reason proceeded to point out, quite vindictively, I might add, that she also wouldn't be pleased with my taste in men.

That point I conceded, imagining the look on my poor mother's face if she ever had been witness to me kissing the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. If she hadn't died when I was so young, surely that would have been the fatal blow to her already weak heart.

Jonathan Groves she would have heartily approved of; she would have been thrilled that I had taken an interest in such a fine, upstanding and disciplined young officer. She would have all but performed the marriage ceremony herself, taking to telling me which dress would be most proper, which of my cousins would be my bridesmaids, and precisely which people in Wiltshire would be invited. (She would have insisted I be married in England, and not in _dreadful_ Jamaica.)

My inner voice, gathering momentum, pointed out that she would have done all those things simply because she loved me and wanted what was best for her only daughter.

I knew that was true, as much as I resented my mother's overbearing manner at times. I smiled at the thought that it would probably have only been a matter of a few months after I was married that she would have been pestering me to find out if my courses still came regularly or if it was likely that I was finally getting around to making her a grandmother.

My logical counterpart then pointed out in a catty way, that with the waters I was currently sailing, figuratively and literally, any grandchildren that my mother might have enjoyed, had she lived, would likely be the issue of an infamous pirate.

_That_ was a matter that I didn't even want to begin to consider, and my nearly indefatigable voice of reason took my thoughts of how horrified my mother would have been as a sign of victory.

_She always knew what was best for you._

'She always _wanted_ what was best for me, which isn't the same thing,' I argued.

_Since when?_

'Ever since she argued with my grandfather that he should encourage me to _marry_ a doctor and not become one,' I countered.

_She knew how difficult it would be for you if you chose that path. She wanted you to have a life of ease -not one which you'd have to struggle throughout. _

'A boring one, you mean,' I replied, knowing well that a life where I was resigned to simply be someone's wife was never one that I'd wanted.

_Honestly_... Reason replied, getting exasperated.

'My life has been difficult at time, I'll grant you that, but how would I ever trade what I've accomplished?' I felt Reason panic a little at the thought I had that Barbossa had been responsible, in his own way, for one of the major things I'd accomplished so far in my life.

'Think of all the people that are well, the babies that have been born...the suffering alleviated...the injuries repaired...'

Reason truly seemed frantic at that line of thinking, and then I realized why. One of the worst injuries I'd treated belonged to a man that had become a very good friend, and I smiled, wondering if he remained in Tortuga still. I laughed a little at myself, as he would have, watching me fret and argue with myself about what to do about Hector Barbossa yet again.

'I wonder what would Turk say?' I asked.

_Now, Madeline_...Reason said.

_"Yer wastin' yer life frettin' 'bout what to do with it, 'stead of gettin' off that sweet arse of yers and livin' some of it,"_ I imagined hearing him say in my mind. _"Yeh know it's no secret that yeh've wanted that bloody peacock fer years, although why that is, I'll never rightly know."_

"That would make two of us," I said out loud, heading for the cabin door.

_Where are you going?_ My voice of reason demanded.

'To write a letter,' I replied determinedly.

_You'll listen to him but not to me? _she asked, sounding hurt that I'd take the absent pirate's hypothetical advice.

'I listen to you ninety-five percent of the time,' I reassured her.

_I suppose that's true. You're sure you know what you're doing?_

'No, but do you want me to lie?' I asked myself.

Reason gave her approximation of a sigh, apparently forgiving me for my rare transgression. _No. Alright, let's go, you're going to need me more than ever..._

_~o~_

**A/N:** A special thank you to Belphegor for the French translation and for putting so much thought into the right way to convey the sentiment I intended. :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen **

_~o~_

_"Yer wastin' yer life frettin' 'bout what to do with it, 'stead of gettin' off that sweet arse of yers and livin' some of it,"_ I imagined hearing him say in my mind. _"Yeh know it's no secret that yeh've wanted that bloody peacock fer years, although why that is, I'll never rightly know."_

"That would make two of us," I said out loud, heading for the cabin door.

_Where are you going?_ My voice of reason demanded.

'To write a letter,' I replied determinedly.

_You'll listen to him but not to me? _she asked, sounding hurt that I'd take the absent pirate's hypothetical advice.

'I listen to you ninety-five percent of the time,' I reassured her.

_I suppose that's true. You're sure you know what you're doing?_

'No, but do you want me to lie?' I asked myself.

Reason gave her approximation of a sigh, apparently forgiving me for my rare transgression. _No. Alright, let's go, you're going to need me more than ever..._

_~o~_

Barbossa must have been too busy with what was going on topside to notice me when I walked past him and pulled open the door to the great cabin. By the time he finally followed, nearly an hour later, he couldn't hide the look of surprise that crossed his face at seeing me sitting at the table, signing my name to the bottom of a letter I had finally finished.

I know there were still tearstains on my face when I spoke to him, and I could see the trace of dread that appeared in his eyes. "I need to seal this," I said softly, and he nodded and went to fetch me a stick of red wax. Once more he removed the ring on his smallest finger and held it out to me, not knowing what he should expect.

I think the last thing either of us expected me to do was to hand him the letter. I didn't think I could actually manage any words at that moment, and he stared at the paper for a long minute before taking it gingerly from my hand. He read only for a brief moment, and I knew he'd likely only read the first line or so on the page.

_My Dearest Jonathan,_

_It is with greatest regret and a heavy heart that..._

Barbossa abruptly put the letter down and met my gaze, scrutinizing my face, I think, for any hint of doubt. "Yer sure?" he asked. Someone who didn't know him as well as I did might not have caught the degree of worry in his simple question.

"Yes."

"Ye must be sure, lass," he said, a measure of desperation slipping into his voice.

I stood up and placed a hand against his scarred cheek and smiled despite my tears. "I'm certain," I said as steadily as I could, watching him struggle with great emotion that he was unused to dealing with. He closed his eyes and placed a hand over mine, pressing my fingers against his face, and then he let go a shuddering sigh of relief, which only served to tug at my heartstrings more.

"I love you," I said, surprised at how easy it was to say the words, but not as much at the fact that they were true. "I guess I always have."

A faint smile crossed his lips, and I should have expected his playful sarcasm when he opened his eyes again. "I know," he said with a trace of appealing arrogance. "Ye just needed to figure it out fer yerself."

"Oh, really?" I asked, beginning to smile.

"Aye. I suspected it...knew fer certain when ye nearly ran me down with that horse of yers, intent on seein' to it that I not hang, regardless of what ye'd be throwin' away to warn me." He reached for me, but I quickly withdrew, knowing I had something else I had to tell him first.

"I have something else to say, before you kiss me," I said.

"Well, spit it out, lass," he said, coming closer again, "I'll not wait all night."

"You realize at the current moment that I'm still engaged?" I began.

"Not since when ye signed that letter," he argued gently, and closed in on where I was still backing slowly away from him.

"I am until he gets that letter," I explained, halting in my tracks when my back encountered the newly repaired windows.

"'Twill be soon enough," Barbossa said, being gently dismissive as he pressed himself up against me, trapping me where I was and leaning down to kiss me. He frowned heavily as he found my fingers against his lips, keeping him an inch from my mine.

"Not until he gets the letter," I said softly. The restriction I was placing on our situation became apparent to him, and he smiled uneasily at me.

"Yer not serious, are ye?" he asked, clearly hoping that I was teasing him.

"Quite," I replied firmly. "This is a very difficult thing for me to do...regardless of how I feel about you," I added, trying to be reassuring. "Please let me walk away from him feeling like I didn't betray him, like I didn't dishonor what we shared."

I admit that Barbossa didn't look happy in the least. "Madeline," he beseeched me, "surely ye don't mean to make me wait any longer than the twelve years I've already..."

I changed tactics to try to have my way yet pacify him a little, and embraced him warmly, resting my head against his chest. "Hector Barbossa," I said tenderly, "you are the most remarkable man I've ever met. How you've endured what you have in your life is beyond me."

"Yeh don't know the half of it," he replied, still sounding a bit sulky.

"Well, I trust that you'll share it with me in time," I said, reaching up and giving him a tiny peck on the lips, "and I trust you enough to know that you'll be patient just a bit longer so that you can help me do what I feel is necessary."

I knew, as did he, that his hands were tied after a declaration of faith like that from me, since he'd always been concerned about me placing my trust in him.

He let go of me and reluctantly acquiesced. "Fine," he sighed, "but I expect the moment ye deem risk of dishonor be over, that ye do yer best to express yer undyin' gra'itude an' devotion."

Although I admit it a wicked thing to do, I found that I couldn't help but add to my pirate captain's level of frustration. "I will," I said, in a sultry whisper near his ear, "be most grateful..." I kissed his earlobe where the reptilian fang hung. "In an unfettered..." I kissed his ear again, "uninhibited..." I nibbled his earlobe, eliciting a tiny gasp from him, "..._eager _way."

I brushed his lips with a feathery, fleeting kiss, and when I pulled away, I thought Barbossa looked like he'd forgotten to breathe for a moment.

"Do we have an accord?" I asked him pleasantly, and I believe he managed to croak back something that passed for 'yes'.

~o~

I left Barbossa to his own company, deciding that after we'd come to an understanding about how things were going to be between us for the time that I'd best not tempt fate, and I was leaving his cabin to head for mine when there was more commotion on deck with the men.

The crew had spent an hour or two managing to salvage food and weapon stores from the ill-fated ship before it looked like she was going down for good, and most of them had been on deck sorting out and stowing away what had been recovered when the cry went up.

"Man overboard!" someone cried out ahead of where I was, and as the crew rushed to the port side to get a better look, I also went to see what was going on. What I found was a small longboat coming alongside the _Pearl_, which appeared to contain a half-dozen men, most likely from the sinking ship we'd left behind not long before.

"Halloo!" one of them called up to the deck from the boat even as I left my place at the rail and went to knock on the cabin door.

I went back in to the cabin after I'd heard Barbossa call for me to enter, and he looked up from where he stood at the end of the table, apparently reading the entirety of the letter I'd written but forgotten to seal.

"You're reading my letter?" I asked, unsure how I felt about him doing so.

"Ye did offer it to me to read," he said, quickly defending himself.

I knew he had a point. "I hadn't expected you to read it all."

"Neither did I," he said, folding it back up and then dripping red wax on it. He pressed the ring he wore on his smallest finger into the wax, sealing it for good until it would reach Jonathan's hands. He gestured at me with it before tossing it back on the table. "'Tis an elegant and thoughtful manner in which Lieutenant Groves will have his heart broken," he said solemnly. "Apparently ye care fer him a great deal."

"I was going to marry him," I said quietly. "I should think it would be obvious that I care for him a great deal."

Barbossa nodded and came around the table to stand near me, meeting my gaze steadily. "After readin' that, I'll not ferget what it took fer you to make that decision, nor the fact that it be an amazin' and fine thing that ye apparently care fer me more."

I would have gotten caught up in the way he was looking at me at that moment, if it weren't for the fact that I suddenly remembered the reason I had come back to his cabin. "There's a boat in the water with men in it," I said promptly, fairly certain that I would have quickly forgotten the restriction I'd earlier put on our relationship for the moment if he had continued to look at me the way he was.

Barbossa frowned and then strode past me and out onto the deck as I followed in his wake. Gibbs met him and explained the situation to him as he accompanied him to the port rail.

"Six men, one injured, from the _Reina Mercedes,_ found adrift in a boat, sir," Gibbs said efficiently. "They request permission to come aboard."

Barbossa nodded to acknowledge that he'd heard and continued on to the rail, and while I assumed that we would automatically offer aid to anyone who was injured and adrift, I quickly was reminded that I was on board a ship full of pirates.

One of the men in the boat, who had apparently been acting as the spokesman for the small group, called up to the deck of the _Pearl _again when Barbossa appeared at the side.

"Ah, good! You would be the captain of this ship?" he called up.

"That I am," Barbossa called down in reply.

The man sitting in the front of the longboat called back up before Barbossa could say anything else. "Well, as there is only one ship that this could possibly be, that would mean there is only one man you could possibly be, sir. You must be Captain Barbossa."

I watched Barbossa's reaction, expecting him to be pleased that his notoriety had preceded him, but his expression remained hardened, and I saw his eyes narrow for a brief moment as he scrutinized the man speaking. "Aye," Barbossa called down, "and who might you be?"

I could see that the man in the front of the boat smiled a little. "I am Francisco Miguel Angel Rabara, captain of the _Reina Mercedes_. My beautiful ship was set upon by a navy vessel, and unfortunately we did not fare well against her."

"We saw her," Barbossa replied, "or what was left of her. A navy ship did that, ye say?"

"Out of Port Calais," Rabara called up, "not more than six hours ago."

"I see," Barbossa answered, clearly thinking about whether or not the navy ship might still be about. "And what reason would a navy ship have to engage yer vessel?"

Rabara's smile grew broader. "Apparently they were not fond of the black flag we raised," he said, confirming all our suspicions that we were dealing with more pirates. Rabara sobered at that instant. "One of my men is injured, and we would much prefer to sail with you aboard the _Black Pearl _than in this dinghy much longer. Would you consider adding six fellow Brethren to your crew, Captain Barbossa?"

Barbossa was in no rush to take them on board, and I found myself with my hand on his arm, whispering to him in a concerned way. "One of his men is clearly injured," I said urgently, pointing at where one of the men in the boat with Rabara and the remnants of his crew was slumped over and likely unconscious. "Surely you can't be thinking to leave them adrift?"

Barbossa never even looked at me as he spoke back. "Port Calais be close enough," he said evenly.

"But that man might die in the time it would take them to get there in that little boat," I whispered back, appalled that he might actually be considering leaving them on their own. "Please let me at least have a look at the injured one."

Barbossa turned to look at me for a long moment, and I think had it not been for the fact that he'd just read the letter I'd written and realized just how I must feel about him, that the crew in the boat below us at that moment might have been left adrift for a good long while.

"Please?" I asked, clearly growing concerned about the still figure in the boat.

He met my gaze for another long moment and then turned and spoke with Gibbs. "Master Gibbs, bring them aboard. Search them and take any weapons and then bring the injured man below where she can look at him. Bring Rabara to me, and put the rest in the brig fer the moment."

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs answered smartly.

Barbossa turned and walked away to his cabin without another glance in my direction, and I knew he'd made his decision to bring the stranded men aboard for the sake of appeasing me rather than any twinge of guilt that might have plagued his conscience over leaving them to their own devices.

It took some doing to get the wounded man aboard, and I opted to evaluate him on deck at first, rather than moving him below before I knew the extent of his injuries. Gibbs handed me his knife when I asked for it, but before I could manage to start cutting away any clothing, Rabara's hand was firmly upon my wrist. Being that close to him, I noted that he stood about the same height as Barbossa, but had long dark hair and ebony eyes set in a face that was a tanned dark olive, characteristic of his original home in Spain.

"I don't know what you think you are doing with that," he began, his dark eyes meeting mine menacingly, "but..."

His words were silenced by the multitude of pistol hammers being cocked on the dozens of guns instantly pointed at him by my fellow crewmembers, and he gradually released his hold on my arm.

I didn't hold his concern against him. "I'm a doctor, Captain Rabara," I said evenly. "I need to remove some of his clothes to get a better look at his wounds."

Rabara raised an eyebrow and looked to Gibbs who gave him a reassuring nod, and after thinking things over for a moment spoke to me again. "My apologies, Doctor...?"

"Gray," I replied.

"Doctor Gray," he repeated back politely. "Please continue."

I wasted no time in cutting away the vest and shirt the prone man wore in order to get a better look at where all the blood that had soaked through them was coming from. I set the dagger aside to begin probing at what was an obvious small bullet wound several inches above his left hip. The area around it was peppered with tiny flecks of burned skin, and the edges of the wound were blackened with gunpowder.

"This isn't good," I said, mostly to myself as I noted how distended and tight the pirate's abdomen was. Not fully unconscious, he let out a soft moan while I was probing his skin. His pulse was weak and thready, but his lungs sounded clear, and I looked up to speak to Gibbs, and was surprised at the fact that I was completely surrounded by crewmen trying to watch me work.

"Mr. Gibbs, I need a little room, and some help to roll him over," I said quietly. "This wound was from a gunshot at close range, and I suspect there's an exit wound somewhere in the back."

Gibbs nodded at me and waved off the press of curious pirates. "Give 'er some room, yeh dogs!" He and Rabara stepped forward to help gently roll the prone figure before me up a little onto his side, and much to my great concern, I discovered I was correct in my suppositions. There, about two inches to the left of his spine was an area of everted and ragged flesh from which still trickled a steady stream of blood.

"Put him down," I said quietly, and then I stood and motioned for Rabara to step aside with me. "This man is going to die," I said solemnly. "His injury is very grave."

"Is there nothing you can do?" he asked.

I shook my head. "The bullet is gone, but with the amount of damage that's been done from a penetrating wound like that….I fear what is on the inside is much worse, Captain. He's lost an enormous amount of blood, and even if I could get him to stop hemorrhaging internally, his wounds will fester within days, and he'll die an agonizing death."

Rabara, and his men who had come to listen in, looked grave. "Is there anything you can do for him?"

"I'll try to make him comfortable. It would be best if he never regains consciousness," I replied. At that point I turned to Gibbs and asked that the dying man be brought to my small cabin and be placed upon the bed.

Rabara spoke to me as I followed where Pintel and Ragetti helped carry the wounded man below. "Doctor Gray, _gracias_," he said.

I nodded to him before Gibbs escorted him off to Barbossa's cabin, and went to tend to dying man for the last hour he would sail upon the sea.

**A/N: **Rabara's accent is implied. He has a fairly subtle one as is seen later and there'll be more about his character as the story goes along.

For those of you who enjoyed the first chapter of _The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness_, there's now a second chapter up. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** This chapter goes up today on May 1, the one year anniversary of the posting of the first chapter of Memories of May, which started the whole saga!

~o~

**Chapter Twenty **

~o~

_Rabara, and his men who had come to listen in, looked grave. "Is there anything you can do for him?"_

_"I'll try to make him comfortable. It would be best if he never regains consciousness," I replied. At that point I turned to Gibbs and asked that the dying man be brought to my small cabin and be placed upon the bed._

_Rabara spoke to me as I followed where Pintel and Ragetti helped carry the wounded man below. "Doctor Gray...thank you," he said._

_I nodded to him before Gibbs escorted him off to Barbossa's cabin, and went to tend to dying man for the last hour he would sail upon the sea._

_~o~_

Although I was not privy to the conversation that was shared by Barbossa and the captain of the ill-fated _Reina Mercedes_, I did learn from him later some of what passed between them.

As it turned out, the two men had a common friend in Eduardo Villanueva, and after thoroughly questioning Rabara to decide if he should place any significant trust in the man, Barbossa decided that he would let his men free from the brig later that evening, as long as they agreed to take orders from him and do their share of work.

Rabara, only too happy to be rescued and somewhat in awe of the prospect of sailing on the infamous _Black Pearl_, under the command of her equally notorious captain, readily agreed, and the two struck an accord for the duration of the voyage.

The man I meanwhile tended, named Rodriguez, continued to slip further away, and I had to content myself with cleaning his wounds and binding his abdomen in a feeble attempt to try and stop the internal bleeding. I knew it was futile to do so, but I've never had an easy time just sitting by and doing nothing. With finally nothing left to do but wait for what I knew would be a short period of time, I sat on the man's bedside, holding his hand and speaking to him as he sank further into oblivion.

When Rabara showed his face in the doorway, he arrived in time to see me covering his countryman with the sheet that I drew up over his head.

"So, he has gone," he said quietly, startling me a little in the quiet of the small cabin.

I turned to face him and spoke as kindly as I could. "I'm sorry there wasn't more I could do. I don't think he knew or felt anything near the end," I said, hoping to offer some measure of comfort.

"Well, that would be a shame," Rabara said, glancing at the shrouded figure. "Rodriguez would have wanted to leave this life in no other way than sharing a bed with a beautiful señora."

I stood up abruptly from where I'd been seated next to Rodriguez, and Rabara frowned upon seeing the look on my face.

"_Lo siento_...I am sorry," he said, sounding concerned. "I have offended you."

I had noticed how impeccable his English was, observing that it contained only traces of the accent that would be a clue to his Spanish heritage.

"No, it's alright," I said, smiling briefly.

"No, it isn't," he said, coming closer to rest his hand on the shoulder beneath the sheet. "I think perhaps we sometimes forget how to act around a _lady_ after being at sea for so long."

He smiled at me briefly. "You are obviously no pirate, madam," he said kindly.

"No?" I asked, not quite sure where he was headed with his comment.

"No," he replied. "I have been around women pirates, Dr. Gray, and you are nothing like them."

"Should I regard that as a compliment or an insult, Captain Rabara?" I asked him lightly.

"I would not presume to insult the woman who made such an effort to look after my poor dear cousin," he replied.

"Oh, I didn't realize that he was family," I said, trying to find something appropriate to say to him.

Rabara held up a hand to silence me gently. "No matter. He is in a finer place now. I'll return shortly with my men to see to him. Would it be too much to ask you to stay with him for a few moments?"

"No, of course not," I replied, and I remained with the dead pirate until his comrades came to carry him away and commend his body to the care of the sea he had loved so well.

~o~

Port Calais, in my estimation, was a small town that seemed to be something midway between the upstanding seaport that Port Royal was, and the rowdy decadence that was Tortuga. While there were primarily only respectable businesses in the little island port, the fact that they flourished was due to the fact that they were not only frequented by respectable patrons.

Even if they didn't encourage pirates with open arms, as did the merchants of Tortuga, the businessmen of Port Calais, should an establishment of theirs be patronized by any individuals suspected of having gone on the account, had the convenient habit of looking the other way. If a pirate kept to himself, and didn't stir up an undue amount of trouble, he might well find himself availed of fine food and drink and accommodating merchants happy to supply his needs if the right amount of gold crossed their palms.

If a pirate stirred up too much trouble, as was not infrequently the case, the merchants of Port Calais had few qualms about letting slip the whereabouts of said pirates when speaking to officers of the fort that resided across the small island. Not a major military outpost in itself, Fort William was nevertheless a significant one, and served primarily as a re-supply point for Navy vessels since it was situated in a strategic location between the eastern and western Caribbean.

Although the officers of the fort would have liked to have done more about the pirates who frequented the town nearby, the small size of their outpost would have meant that it became a full-time operation for every marine stationed there, and they contented themselves with routing out or hanging the occasional trouble making scallywag.

Half a day out from Port Calais, I found Barbossa in his cabin the next morning, (having prudently stayed in mine overnight) pacing, as was his habit when deep in thought or agitation. That morning he appeared, to my relief, to be mulling over some issue that needed sorting out.

"Good morning," I said, upon slipping in through the cabin door once he'd called for me to enter.

"Mornin', lass," he said, halting midway in his route back and forth across the cabin. "Did ye rest well?"

"Yes, thank you. Did you?" I asked.

"As well as might be expected, all alone in me cold bed," he replied, clearly still sending me a message.

I folded my arms across my chest. "Is this how you're going to be the whole time?" I asked, trying not to smile at him too broadly.

"'Tis likely," he replied, evidently pouting, and I rolled my eyes at him. "I think I have solved how to get yer letter delivered," he then added, wasting no time in telling me what he'd been considering so carefully. "Port Calais is easy enough to risk –it be situated such that if we station a lookout, the _Pearl_ can make way before any navy vessel can round the island."

"That doesn't eliminate the risk of marines in town, though," I pointed out.

"'Tis true," he replied, "but they'll likely not bother with the likes of us if we keep our heads down and our mouths shut."

"It still sounds dangerous," I fretted.

"Welcome to bein' a pirate, lass," Barbossa replied, driving home the point I'd tried to avoid considering. "The lads brought back the surgeon's chest from the wreck last evenin' –seein' as how ye'd now be ship's doctor to the _Black Pearl_," he said wryly, "mayhap ye'd see if there be aught of use in it?"

I sighed and shook my head. It wasn't a distinction I'd ever thought to obtain. "I'll do that right away, and maybe we can augment what's there with supplies from Port Calais?"

"My thoughts precisely," Barbossa replied. "'Twill keep you occupied while I see about yer letter, then I have an errand I thought ye might join me in."

"How will you...surely you're not going to the fort?" I asked, concerned for the obvious reason that Barbossa would likely be shot on sight, rather than captured and hanged if they realized just who he was.

"Nay, Master Gibbs has said he'll go," Barbossa explained. "A few of his old shipmates be posted there still."

"He was in the navy?" I asked, surprised at the possibility.

"Aye."

"Won't it still be risky for him? Perhaps I should..."

Barbossa waived me off, about to argue, but then seemed to reconsider the matter. "There be no way another ship could have gotten here ahead of the _Pearl_. If you were to go to the fort straightaway, they'd think ye just be wantin' to get a letter to yer fiancée."

"They wouldn't know that I helped you yet," I said. "It's almost no risk for me to do it."

"_Almost_," Barbossa emphasized.

"It would be less risk than Gibbs would face," I replied. "I'd hate to see anything happen to him on my account."

"Agreed," Barbossa replied. "He's worth 'is weight in gold on this ship."

"Then it's settled. As soon as we make port, I'll go to the fort to have the letter delivered and meet you back in town." I realized it sounded a lot simpler when I said it than it was likely to be.

~o~

By the time we dropped anchor in Port Calais, I had donned a clean dress from Cornelia's old trunk, tidied up my hair, and managed to look as if I'd come from just about anywhere but a pirate ship.

Barbossa, unlike in Tortuga, did not hoist his colors, and the _Pearl_ had reefed sail quite a ways before entering the harbor, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible by furling her characteristic black canvas.

He also made it a point to let Rabara and his men go ashore, but not without dividing them so that not all of them remained together on the _Black Pearl_ at any one time, regardless of the fact that there were still plenty of our own crew on board. It was the fist inkling that I had that he didn't trust the Spanish pirates nearly as much as I had originally thought, and I wondered if his distrust was based on paranoia or instinct.

I chose to say nothing about the matter to him for the time being, as I had other things to concern myself with, but I resolved to keep an eye on Rabara myself if Barbossa, savvy veteran pirate that he was, thought that something might be amiss.

Once again, I had a sense of _déjà vu_ as I sat in the back of one of the long boats, being rowed ashore by the first group of pirates that were to start trading off and fencing swag plundered from the unlucky _Essex_. We passed a number of other ships in the harbor, several of which clearly were merchant vessels, and two of which were of questionable origins.

When we'd stepped ashore and the crew began their business of unloading their cargo, Barbossa beckoned me to follow him quickly, and drew me off to one side of the harbormaster's hut, out of plain view.

"I'll not have you seen in me company before ye go to the fort," he explained, "just in case."

I nodded, understanding that the risk to myself would increase substantially if I were to be seen ahead of time in the company of any pirate, never mind the particular one with whom I stood.

Barbossa had indicated to me what the layout of Port Calais was like, and once I stood at the threshold of the town, his crude drawings of earlier proved to be quite accurate, and I felt as if I'd been there once already.

"Two hours, no more," Barbossa said, reiterating the time frame we'd agreed upon. I knew that if I didn't reach our pre-arranged rendezvous point within that limit, that Barbossa would interpret it to mean that things had gone wrong, and Fort William was likely to find itself stormed by the _Black Pearl_ and more than two score pirates intent on my retrieval.

"Yer sure 'bout this?" he asked, just before we parted.

"Yes. It's my decision and my responsibility," I said softly. "I'll see you in two hours." I picked up my skirt in one hand, and stood on tiptoe to plant a brief kiss on his lips.

"'Tis a dangerous thing to be seen kissin' a pirate," he scolded me, but not as harshly as he might have.

"Embrasser un pirate est de toute façon dangereux, vous ne croyez pas?" I teased, turning away as I did so. _("It's a dangerous thing to kiss a pirate, don't you agree?")_

"Aye, lass, that be true," he said, sounding amused.

I turned back to say something else, and found that I was standing there alone, as Barbossa had slipped away in the moment I'd had my back turned.

I took a deep breath, and letting it out, I raised the parasol I carried, over my head, and made my way to the fort with my letter.

~o~

What I didn't know, and thankfully Lieutenant Collins, the commanding officer at the fort didn't either, was that the imprint on the wax that closed my letter, similar in design to the medallion that customarily hung around Barbossa's neck, had come to serve as the seal of the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea.

Whether or not Jonathan would know its significance, or whether Barbossa had intended it to rub salt into the wound I would create, I likewise did not know at that time. Looking back on it, I rather suspect that Barbossa did, and Jonathan, mercifully, didn't.

Upon finding out that I was the fiancée of Jonathan Groves, Lieutenant Collins was more than accommodating, and arranged that the letter would be sent to Port Royal the very next day, on a vessel scheduled to be deployed in that region anyway. Trying to appear grateful and do my best to appear at ease, I endured his tour of the fort, mindful of the time that was passing.

It took all I could do not to panic when he insisted I stay for tea, and I realized that I hadn't planned an excuse to leave quickly enough when he insisted once again, upon extending his hospitality to the future Mrs. Groves.

I knew the time limit was fast approaching as the lieutenant offered me more tea, and at last I told him another lie to try to make my escape, informing him that my father, in Port Calais on business, would be worried about me if I didn't meet him on time, and that indeed the only reason he had let me venture out of town without a chaperone or escort, was that my destination had been the fort full of officers and gentlemen.

"Well, we shan't have you returning to your father unescorted, then, shall we?" Collins said pleasantly. "I shall accompany you myself to congratulate your father on gaining such a fine son-in-law."

I stood and smiled as charmingly as I could, trying desperately to decline his offer, but he would not hear of me being left to my own company for the walk back to town.

Try as I might, once we'd reached Port Calais, I couldn't rid myself of my gallant companion, and I didn't know what I was going to do once I'd reached my destination and it turned out that I was not meeting my father, but the scourge of the Caribbean.

I stood near the inn that was the rendezvous point, turning in circles, looking for anyone I knew as Collins waited patiently, insistent on not leaving me until I was safely back in my father's charge.

I was on the verge of panicking, when I realized someone had called my name.

"Madeline, over here," a voice called, thick with a French accent. I turned to where a distinguished-looking gentleman was heading purposefully toward me, and suddenly I had to make a concerted effort not to let my jaw drop open.

Dressed in an expensive brown frockcoat and riding boots, hat and bandana missing, having even removed his earring and trimmed his habitually ill-tended beard to a tidier goatee, was Barbossa, looking as far from resembling a pirate as I thought I could imagine. His hair was pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck, held by a ribbon of finest black silk, and I found myself praying that his trademark scar would not tip off the lieutenant.

I knew he was going to kill me, but there was nothing else I could do.

"Papa!" I cried joyfully, greeting him and taking him by the arm.

"Papa?" he snarled indignantly, under his breath so that only I heard him.

I ignored his comment and brought him forward to make introduction to the waiting Collins. "Papa, may I present Lieutenant Collins, a friend of Jonathan's, who was gracious enough to see me safely back to town?" I hoped the situation would be clear enough to Barbossa from my brief statement.

"Lieutenant, my father, Monsieur Dumond," I continued, opting for the name of my former mentor, thinking Gray didn't sound convincingly French.

"Did you say Dumond?" Collins asked, trying to clarify the situation, but not appearing suspicious as far as I could tell.

"My stepfather, in actuality," I explained, "but since he raised me from the time I was young enough to sit upon his lap, I think of him only as a daughter would consider a true father." I tightened my grip on Barbossa's arm, gazing upon him affectionately. "N'est-ce pas la vérité, Père?" _("Isn't that right, Father?")_

"Tout à fait..._ma_ _fille_," Barbossa replied, doing his best to hide his displeasure at having to call me daughter. _(Quite, daughter.)_

"Ah," Collins said, apparently buying my story. "It is an honor to meet you, sir," he said, shaking hands with Barbossa.

"And you, Monsieur," Barbossa replied, sounding sincere and quite French. "I thank you for escorting my daughter safely to town."

"My pleasure," Collins replied amiably. "Your daughter is a fine woman, Monsieur Dumond. Might I offer my sincere congratulations on her engagement?"

"Merci, Lieutenant," Barbossa replied, with a gracious nod of his head, and then he addressed me. "Madeline, I do not wish to seem rude, but...nos amis..."

"Oh, yes. Forgive me, Papa," I said, appearing as if I'd only just considered the time. "We shouldn't keep our friends waiting."

I turned back to Collins, and thanking him as graciously as I could for his hospitality and his assistance, took my leave with Barbossa, my hand on his arm until Collins had disappeared around a corner.

Barbossa wasted no time in letting me know he was unhappy with me. "Could ye not have at least made me yer older brother?" he asked, dropping the French affect and reverting to his native Padstow accent.

"I thought you were rather convincing as my father," I said, hanging onto his arm still, but snuggling in perhaps a little closer than would have been seemly with my sire.

"I am not nearly old enough to be yer father," Barbossa replied, evidently still put off, "but that doesn't mean yer too old to yet sit on me lap."

"Stop that," I admonished him softly, as we came to stand together outside several bustling businesses. "What are we doing here?"

He leaned down and kissed me briefly, but still in a way that would have been quite inappropriate, were he my actual guardian. "I have a surprise fer ye," he said, and he nodded at the sign across the road, indicating a tavern there by the name of _The Vulgar Unicorn._

_~o~_

**A/N:**Thank you once more to Belphegor for putting up with me pestering her for translations into French! :D

If any of you know where the name of the tavern comes from without looking it up, then it probably means you're an old pirate like me. ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** The Vulgar Unicorn is actually the name of a tavern in the old Thieves' World series by the late Robert Lynn Asprin. It's actually out of print now, but worth reading if you can find it.

My muse has been stopping in to visit more often lately, after a long holiday, and I've been catching up on drabbles for The Library at Shipwreck Cove, new chapters for The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness, and have a new chapter of NBHP nearly done.

Hope you enjoy this visit with an old friend!

~o~

**Chapter Twenty-One **

~o~

_Barbossa wasted no time in letting me know he was unhappy with me. "Could ye not have at least made me yer older brother?" he asked, dropping the French affect and reverting to his native Padstow accent._

_"I thought you were rather convincing as my father," I said, hanging onto his arm still, but snuggling in perhaps a little closer than would have been seemly with my sire._

_"I am not nearly old enough to be yer father," Barbossa replied, evidently still put off, "but that doesn't mean yer too old to yet sit on me lap."_

_"Stop that," I admonished him softly, as we came to stand together outside several bustling businesses. "What are we doing here?"_

_He leaned down and kissed me briefly, but still in a way that would have been quite inappropriate, were he my actual guardian. "I have a surprise fer ye," he said, and he nodded at the sign across the road, indicating a tavern there by the name of The Vulgar Unicorn._

~o~

The _Vulgar Unicorn_ appeared to be the least reputable of the businesses I'd seen so far in Port Calais, and I followed Barbossa inside, once two marines on casual patrol passed us, appearing to take no notice of a gentleman and his female companion out for a stroll through town.

"Why is it that we're going in here?" I asked, thinking that there had appeared to be several other establishments where we could have gotten food or drink which didn't look as suspect as the particular tavern we were walking into.

"Ye'll see," Barbossa replied cryptically as we entered the building

The room was crowded and smoky, and a rough-looking patronage of sailors and pirates was spread across a dozen tables, all drinking their rum and sharing their adventures. Barbossa carried his hand on his sword, wary of the environment we found ourselves in.

As for me, I carried no blade, as I wouldn't have known what to do with it if I did, but I stayed close to Barbossa, confident that I would come to no harm in that place while in his company.

It took us only a moment to spot the large, one-armed pirate, sitting at a table alone, close to the back door, hovering over a mug on the table in front of him, and I glanced at Barbossa with a look of joyful surprise, eager to go to where he sat.

Barbossa shared a knowing look with me and nodded in the direction of the table, suggesting that I should go first. I smiled back, indicating that I took his meaning, and strode over to where Theodore Robert Kempthorne III sat by himself.

"I was wondering if you might know of anyone who would be able to show a lady a good time in Port Calais?" I asked brightly, waiting for him to look at where I stood across the table from him.

He didn't even bother to look up at me, and waived me off grumpily. "Off with yeh, yeh brazen wench! I've no gold to cross yer palm with so yeh'd best look fer someone else to hoist their tops'l fer yeh."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "Now, is that any way to speak to the doctor of the _Rogue Wave_?" I asked with mock indignation.

He hesitated for a moment. "May?" He lifted his head to look at me and grinned broadly. "Bloody fuckin' hell!" he said jovially, abruptly standing up to tower over me. He nearly crushed my ribs with the one-armed hug he gave me. "What are yeh...?" He frowned. "May, what are yeh doin' in here alone?" he asked, suddenly concerned for my safety.

"What makes yeh think she's alone?" Barbossa asked from over my shoulder.

I knew every single emotion that Turk was probably experiencing at that moment, having gone through a similar moment myself in my bedroom several days before. It took him a moment to get over what he was seeing, and then to be able to find his voice again.

"W' the fuck are yeh doin' here?" he asked, a huge grin winding its way across his face.

"Waitin' fer you to get off yer arse and say hello, yeh bloody ox," Barbossa growled pleasantly.

Turk looked Barbossa over. "Yeh almost look respectable in that," he said, referring to the clothes Barbossa had adopted to blend in.

"No need to be insultin', Master Kempthorne," Barbossa replied, starting to smile.

Turk looked Barbossa over again, still grinning broadly from ear to ear. "Heard you was dead, Barbossa," he said, shaking hands warmly with his old captain and friend. "Guess I heard wrong."

"What ye heard be true, Turk," Barbossa replied, pulling out a chair for me as we all sat down at Turk's table.

Turk frowned. "What the bloody hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll explain later," Barbossa replied, as a barmaid with an impressive amount of exposed cleavage made it to our group.

"What'll it be, luv?" she asked, addressing Barbossa.

"Rum," Barbossa replied, indicating Turk and himself, "and red wine fer the lady, French if ye have it."

I frowned as the serving girl left. "That's a bit sexist, isn't it?" I asked.

"Ye can't handle yer rum, lass," Barbossa replied, waving me off.

"No, not that. I know _that_," I replied, "but I could have ordered on my own."

Turk sniggered, amused at the fact that I was scolding the notorious pirate.

Never one to be flustered easily, Barbossa answered me smoothly. "I should think ye'd find it charmin' that I took time to pay attention to what it is ye prefer to drink."

"I suppose," I replied, conceding the point.

"Nicely done," Turk commented, amused at Barbossa slipping out of hot water so easily. He elbowed me affectionately. "It's always the smart ones as are the most trouble, aye?"

"Aye," Barbossa replied, " and this one be smarter than most."

I realized that he was insinuating also that I was more trouble than most women. "That's only because I take after you, _mon pere_," I said sweetly.

Barbossa frowned. "I'm glad ye still be so amused by that," he snarled softly.

"What?" Turk asked curiously, as the barmaid returned and set out drinks on the table.

I was only too happy to explain to Turk, much to Barbossa's chagrin, that he'd been forced on the spur of the moment to pose as my stepfather.

"Ha! That might be the funniest thing I've heard in a long while," Turk said with a laugh. "Imaginin' yeh as someone's dear ol' pa!"

"The two of you can stow it anytime now," Barbossa replied, not nearly as amused as Turk and I were.

"So, how'd yeh get here anyway, Hector?" Turk asked, taking a swig of rum. "Do yeh have a ship?"

"Aye," Barbossa replied, beaming, "but not just any ship, Turk. _The_ ship."

"Yeh got 'er back?" Turk asked, and I suddenly had the impression that Turk knew more about what had happened during the years of the curse than I did. Little did I know it would only be a few hours before I found out just why.

"Aye, she be in the harbor if ye'd like to say hello," Barbossa replied very quietly, not wanting to risk anyone overhearing him, despite the fact that neither man had said the name of the ship they were referring to.

Turk grew quiet for a long moment, staring at his cup on the table, and then at last he spoke. "Yeh didn't come here just to show off yer pretty ship," he said.

"No," Barbossa answered, watching the rum he swirled in his own cup, a habit that he fell to in conversation often, as I've noted.

"I dunno, Hector," Turk continued after a moment, dropping his voice to barely more than a whisper. "_The Black Pearl's _awfully popular with a lot of people right now." He met Barbossa's steady gaze for a long moment, and something unspoken passed between them.

At last Turk broke eye contact and sighed, and I had the sense he was about to concede defeat about something. "Yeh'd make it worth my time?" he asked.

"Share an' a half, same as me," Barbossa answered, and I realized what was going on.

"Hmmm," Turk replied, still seeming slightly hesitant.

"May, here, bakes some of the best apple pie ye've ever had," Barbossa added, trying to sweeten his offer, and I suddenly got the impression there were going to be a lot of pies in my future.

"Yeh don't say?" Turk asked casually, looking like he was still seriously considering Barbossa's proposal, but not entirely convinced.

"Alright, fine," Barbossa said, apparently getting more desperate. "It'll be a share an' a half, May will bake whatever 'tis tickles yer fancy, and she'll share yer bunk once a week."

My mouth all but fell open at Barbossa's new offer.

Turk raised an eyebrow a bit, and took an unhurried sip of rum. He then made it a point to glance blatantly down the front of my dress, and then at my backside seated on the chair next to him, as if he were evaluating a horse he was about to buy, and then turned back to Barbossa. "Make it two nights a week," he said, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Out of the question," Barbossa replied with a dismissive gesture. "It'll be once a week, an' every other Sunday."

Turk thought it over for one last minute. "Can I have 'er tonight?"

Barbossa thought about it and offered Turk his hand. "Done," he said, as the two men grinned and shook on it. "Welcome to the crew of the _Black Pearl_, Master Turk."

Our business apparently concluded, we all stood, and Turk wasted no time in slipping his good arm around my waist. "I'll meet yeh in the harbor in the mornin' then," he said to Barbossa, making as if he were going to escort me away for the first night he'd bargained for.

"Some things never change," I sighed, amused that twelve years had seemed to slip away in a matter of moments, leaving my two companions having fun at my expense as they'd often done in the past. I walked outside with the two pirates, Turk's arm still around me and mine around him affectionately, as I was truly happy to see Barbossa's old bo'sun.

It was decided that we would head for the harbor, and as we did so, Barbossa offered me his arm.

I gave him my sweetest smile, and walked right past him, content for the moment to be escorted by Turk, who was apparently just as amused at tormenting Barbossa, who followed along behind, shaking his head and smiling.

~o~

As the longboat we sat in approached the _Black Pearl_, Turk let out a low whistle in appreciation, his expert eye taking in her fine lines, hull, and ornamentation. "She's a sight fer sore eyes, Barbossa," Turk said softly, "even with all the black paint."

"'Tis one of the few things Sparrow did to treat her the way she ought to be treated," Barbossa replied, and I caught the subtle resentment in his otherwise even tone.

We climbed the ladder, (me last of all since I was wearing a dress) and I noticed Turk garnered a few curious glances as he and I followed Barbossa to his cabin.

Barbossa indicated that we should all sit at the table, and went for a bottle of rum, but I decided to excuse myself for a few moments, and give the two old friends a moment of private conversation.

I knew Barbossa needed to explain to Turk why it was that he wasn't dead, and that although menfolk such as the two of them might not exhibit a lot of open emotion, it was likely to be there under the surface between the best friends of several decades. I felt I needn't complicate the moment with a woman being present.

"I'll see about finding something for dinner," I said quietly, meeting Barbossa's gaze, and the nod he gave me told me he understood my reason for leaving them alone.

In the galley, I rummaged around, finding little that I could prepare without a major production, and in the end I threw a handful of apples stuffed with nuts and cinnamon in to bake, and set about cooking a large platter of bacon, seasoned fried eggs, accompanied by cheese and bread.

When I made it back to the cabin carrying dinner, I could hear the two men laughing before I'd even managed to open the door.

Once I did, I found Jack sitting on Turk's shoulder, doing his best to figure out how to remove the gold earring that hung from his ear, and Turk running his hand over the little monster's fur.

"Cunnin' he is, Barbossa," Turk laughed, wincing a little as the monkey tugged on his ear again. "Seems as if yer someone's pa after all."

"That's not even slightly amusin'," Barbossa replied, rolling his eyes at Turk's comment, and causing his reinstated bo'sun to laugh again.

"Watch your ears," I said, a bit more bite in my tone than I'd intended, and I set the large platter of food down, and passed out plates and forks.

"Thanks, May," Turk said, digging in immediately.

I sat and ate in silence, content to listen to the two pirates chatting animatedly, catching up on all the time they'd missed together. Jack had gone to his perch, not far from where Barbossa sat, and I found it unnerving that the little beast kept staring at me while he nibbled on tidbits handed to him intermittently by his master.

Once the men had pushed their plates forward and leaned back in their chairs contentedly, I left them to chat some more without me, knowing that they likely had things they needed to discuss about the ship and crew that I didn't need to be a part of.

I brought back a plate of the apples I'd baked, and when I entered the cabin, I got the impression the two of them had been talking about me just before I did so.

"What?" I asked, looking at where they'd gone quiet, and neither one was looking very happy at that moment.

"Nothin', May," Barbossa said, smiling briefly at the sight of the dessert I'd brought, and obviously not wanting to delve into whatever they'd been discussing again.

"Bloody hell if it ain't," Turk growled, appearing agitated. "She should know, Hector."

"She knows," Barbossa said, pouring each of them more rum.

"I know what, exactly?" I inquired, dishing out a pair of apples each and handing them to my pirate companions.

"That wench never passed on the letters that he wrote yeh," Turk said, clearly agitated and speaking of Lilith. "She better hope I don't make it back to Tortuga any time soon."

I sat down, but didn't touch the apple I'd set in front of my own chair. "I'm going to guess she passed on letters to you, but not to me. Is that right?" I asked Turk.

"Aye," Turk snarled, but I knew his anger wasn't directed at me. "I'll wring her scrawny neck fer what she put the two of yeh through!"

He glanced at me. "_You_ never knowin' where he was or why it looked like he abandoned yeh."

He jerked his head at Barbossa. "Him thinkin' yeh knew jus' what he was goin' through- thinkin' yeh jus' didn't write back 'cause yeh couldn't risk trying to get a letter to a pirate."

We all were silent for a moment, and then I jumped when Turk slammed his fist into the table. "Bloody fuckin' harpy," he snarled again, "it'd serve her petty, jealous, bony arse right if'n yeh got married at _The Mermaid_."

"What?" Barbossa and I both asked, clearly each taken aback by Turk's statement.

Turk looked from Barbossa to me to Barbossa again, and his marked irritation was quickly replaced with something less intense. He shook his head and busied himself with an apple, taking to hacking off a chunk with his dagger and then spearing it to carry to his mouth, managing just fine, from what I could see, with one hand. "Yeh really going to let her get away again, Barbossa?" he asked, clearly in the mood to lecture about life and grabbing the opportune moment. "Did yeh taste this? If yeh don't ask her yerself, I'm gonna."

I knew Turk to be having a bit of fun at our expense, but he evidently didn't know the entire situation yet, and he stuck his other foot in his mouth, along with his baked apple. "Matter of fact, May," he said, teasing, "why don't yeh forget this ornery cockerel and consent to bein' Missus Kempthorne?"

"Even if she decided she couldn't resist yer charms, yeh bloody ox," Barbossa said quietly, gazing into his rum, "she's presently engaged."

"Yeh asked her without tellin' me yeh was gonna?" Turk began, seeming a little hurt.

"To a navy lieutenant," Barbossa added, and he took a large swig of rum.

Turk once again looked from Barbossa to me and then back to Barbossa, waiting for someone to fill him in on just what was going on. Barbossa spoke at last, telling Turk how he'd come to see me, continuing an abbreviated version of events that led up to the delivery of my letter, breaking off my engagement to Jonathan Groves.

Turk, who is not as educated as myself, or even Barbossa, is nonetheless one of the savviest individuals I know, and he glanced back in my direction. "I'm sorry yeh had to go through somethin' so painful, May," he said, giving me a sympathetic look. "I'm sure he's a fine man if yeh were inclined to spend much time in his comp'ny."

"He is," I said quietly, staring at my untouched dessert.

"Yeh know where I'd 'ave cast my vote though," Turk said, taking another swig of rum and then grinning broadly. "I'd have to say I'm a bit partial to the old peacock, here."

I smiled and glanced at Barbossa. "That would make two of us, Turk."

Barbossa finally let a smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth. "'Twas inevitable she'd choose a pirate over a navy officer, seein' as how piratin' runs in 'er blood." He'd begun to dig into his dessert, and seemed content at last.

"What would make yeh say an awful thing like that about our May?" Turk asked, taking another draught of rum.

Barbossa gave Turk a wry smile. "I recently found out that May's uncle be Jedediah Gray."

I nearly ended up wearing the rum that Turk spat out, as he'd been completely unprepared for Barbossa's statement. He coughed and sputtered, barely able to utter a word. "What?" he gagged.

"Ye heard right," Barbossa said, waving a hand at him dismissively.

Turk looked at me for confirmation, and I shrugged and then nodded. "He's my father's brother."

It took a minute for what we'd told him to sink in, and then a huge grin made its way across Turk's face. He gestured at Barbossa with a chunk of apple that was impaled on the end of his dagger before eating it.

"He's gonna kill yeh, yeh know," he said, obviously amused.

Barbossa nodded, and sighed. "Aye, that be true," he said, going back to work on his dessert.

I decided for the moment, at least, since I already had enough to think about, that I would postpone considering just was it was going to be like to tell my uncle, and indeed my father, that I was no longer engaged to a lieutenant, but would be keeping company with one of the most notorious of the nine Pirate Lords.

~o~


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two **

~o~

_Barbossa finally let a smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth. "'Twas inevitable she'd choose a pirate over a navy officer, seein' as how piratin' runs in 'er blood." He'd begun to dig into his dessert, and seemed content at last._

_"What would make yeh say an awful thing like that about our May?" Turk asked, taking another draught of rum._

_Barbossa gave Turk a wry smile. "I recently found out that May's uncle be Jedediah Gray."_

_I nearly ended up wearing the rum that Turk spat out, as he'd been completely unprepared for Barbossa's statement. He coughed and sputtered, barely able to utter a word. "What?" he gagged._

_"Ye heard right," Barbossa said, waving a hand at him dismissively._

_Turk looked at me for confirmation, and I shrugged and then nodded. "He's my father's brother."_

_It took a minute for what we'd told him to sink in, and then a huge grin made its way across Turk's face. He gestured at Barbossa with a chunk of apple that was impaled on the end of his dagger before eating it._

_"He's gonna kill yeh, yeh know," he said, obviously amused._

_Barbossa nodded, and sighed. "Aye, that be true," he said, going back to work on his dessert._

_I decided for the moment, at least, since I already had enough to think about, that I would postpone considering just was it was going to be like to tell my uncle, and indeed my father, that I was no longer engaged to a lieutenant, but would be keeping company with one of the most notorious of the nine Pirate Lords._

~o~

We talked that night, into the wee hours of the morning, Barbossa, Turk and I, catching up on Turk's adventures since leaving the _Rogue Wave_, some of what Barbossa had gone through in his search for the scattered coins of Cortez's chest, and my medical career and trips back home to England.

I was covering up yawns that were coming progressively more frequently, and as much as I wanted to hear more about my two pirate companions, I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep my eyes open much longer.

Barbossa, listening intently to Turk telling him news of Thomas Harlow, must have seen me start to nod off once or twice. He managed to catch my eye, and jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom, indicating that I should get some sleep. I considered heading back to the tiny cabin that had been designated for my use, but somehow after spending the hours with two of the people I cared most about in the world, trying to be content with enjoying our evening together, I found I really didn't want to go off alone.

Barbossa continued to speak with Turk, pouring the last of the bottle of rum in their mugs, and I got the impression the two men were going to be talking for a while longer. Finally deciding that unless I wanted to risk dozing off and falling out of my chair, that I should get some sleep, I stood quietly and headed for the bedroom, walking behind Barbossa's chair as I did so.

"Not so fast," he said, breaking off in the middle of something he'd been saying to Turk and reaching out to gently take my elbow. "Might ye be overlookin' somethin'?"

Tired as I was, it only took me a few seconds to read the sly look in his eyes and know what it was he wanted. "Goodnight," I said softly, and I leaned down and kissed him briefly to ease his apparent feeling of being neglected.

"Better," he murmured as I took my leave, causing me to smile.

I nearly got by Turk when he likewise took me by the arm. "What about me?" he whined, teasing both Barbossa and me.

I laughed a little at his antics. "Goodnight to you also," I said, and I planted a small kiss on his lips, causing him to grin at me afterward as Barbossa scowled at him.

How much longer the two friends spent talking out in the cabin, I really couldn't say, but some while after I'd dozed off, I became aware of the fact that someone was in the room with me, and realized the two of them must be retiring as they'd blown out all the lanterns but one.

I felt Barbossa lie down on the bed behind me, and despite the fact that I'd put a restriction on anything physical between us for the time, I couldn't help the desire I had to be held close by him, after all the emotional turmoil of earlier in the day. I surmised he wouldn't be opposed to me snuggling closer, and I rolled over to press against him in the dark.

"Would you hold me?" I whispered to him, hoping he'd comply.

"I'd be happy to do more'n that, darlin'," Turk replied tenderly, causing me to cry out and sit up abruptly. Instantly he was laughing next to me, and I could hear Barbossa at the doorway, chuckling to himself at what they'd done.

"That is not funny," I scolded them, despite the fact that I was beginning to laugh.

Turk lay on his back, laughing at me and himself, and Barbossa approached the bed, teasing me mercilessly as he did so. "So now ye've moved on to me bo'sun, aye?" he asked, implying that I was once more working my way through the crew.

"I reckon I wouldn't complain if she were on yer bo'sun," Turk chimed in wickedly beside me.

I wasted no time grabbing up a pillow and hitting Turk with it, causing him to laugh harder. "You two are being quite inappropriate," I scolded, even as I hit him again.

"Ah, but bein' in bed with yer third pirate be more appropriate?" Barbossa chimed in from where he'd moved closer to the bedside.

He barely ducked the blow from the pillow I swung at him.

~o~

Since I was plenty awake for the moment, after being startled by the fact that I'd been cozying up to Turk instead of Barbossa, I decided that I would venture back to my cabin, and I left the two slightly inebriated friends to share the bed, having to fend off offers from both of them for me to join them for a little pirate ménage-a-trois before I left.

The two of them were still laughing like naughty schoolboys instead of notorious pirates, but I couldn't help but feel a great deal of nostalgia and affection toward them both.

-~o~

It was a pleasant evening out on deck when I left the two of them still being amused at my expense, and since I was completely awake after being startled by Turk, I decided to remain topside for a few minutes to enjoy a breath of fresh air before I retired again for the night.

I was leaning on the rail, watching the moonlight play over the waves that swept past the _Black Pearl_, when someone spoke to me.

"_Buena noche_, Doctor," Francisco Rabara said from over my shoulder, and he came to stand next to me at the railing. "It is a fine night, is it not?" He smiled at me briefly.

I smiled back at him and nodded. "Yes, it is quite nice." We stood in silence for a moment before I spoke again. "Captain Rabara, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for the loss of your cousin again."

He shook his head. "Thank you, Doctor Gray. Rodriguez is in a better place now, and although I appreciate your manners, I am not currently the captain of this fine ship." He smiled again.

"Of course...Mr. Rabara, then," I said in return.

"Cisco," he said, offering his hand.

I took it and spoke back cordially. "Madeline," I said, watching as his brow furrowed in a puzzled way.

"But this is not what your crew calls you," he said, letting go of my hand and then leaning his elbow against the rail. "_May_ it is, I have heard them say, yes?"

I nodded.

"Why is this?" he asked curiously.

"A nickname," I said, going on to explain that the first time I'd set foot on the deck of a pirate ship was May first, years before.

"I would submit, once again, _Señora_, that you are no pirate," he said kindly, watching the waves alongside me.

I sighed. "You would be right, although I suppose the King's navy would see things differently," I said.

"How is it that a fine woman such as yourself has come to find herself aboard the infamous _Black Pearl_?" Rabara asked.

"I keep asking myself that," I said with a light little laugh, and he smiled more broadly at me.

"It's a long story," I said, not sure how to go about explaining it easily.

"I'll bet it is an interesting one," he said, encouraging me to tell it.

I glanced at where he was waiting patiently and I smiled a bit shyly. "Alright, if you must know, it started years ago when I was kidnapped from the ship I was on by Captain Barbossa."

Rabara raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting me continue.

"I was on board the _Rogue Wave_ long enough to establish a rapport with the crew and her captain, and I remained aboard until Barbossa put me ashore a month or so later."

"I see," he said, obviously thinking things over carefully. "And how is it that you have come to find yourself aboard a pirate ship once again?"

"I saved Barbossa from hanging," I explained, "and I was left with no choice but to flee."

Rabara scrutinized my face for a moment. "Why is it that a woman who was kidnapped and held prisoner by a Pirate Lord, would go to all that trouble to save him from..." he paused for just a moment, and then a knowing smile crossed his face. "Ah, I see...so it is true."

"What is?" I asked.

"What they say about you and Captain Barbossa," he replied softly.

I know my cheeks flushed a little, but I was curious. "And what is it they say?" I asked him.

"There is a story that he went through hell and back to be with a woman," he said, "and I think it's quite obvious that it's not just a story." He grew more serious. "It's obvious by the way you convinced him to let my crew aboard this ship. I fear were it not for you, we would still be in that boat."

"Oh, I don't know," I began, trying to defend Barbossa.

"I do," Rabara said. "If our positions were reversed, I would have left us to fend for ourselves also."

"I can't imagine just leaving anyone behind," I said.

"You are no pirate," he said again, sincerely. "Such a shame it is that even being in love with a pirate is considered a crime against the English crown. You are trapped here aboard the _Black Pearl_ then?"

"I choose to stay," I said, just a bit defensively.

"Forgive me," he said graciously, "for I did not mean to offend you. I merely meant that because of your loyalty to Barbossa you are required to submit to a life that was not of your choosing."

I looked away and out over the waves again. "I won't lose him again," I said quietly.

"And he must feel the same way about you?" Rabara asked.

I nodded.

"Bueno. It is a fine thing to be in love, is it not?" he said. "Even if it is with a notorious pirate?" He laughed aloud at that point, and I found myself smiling at the fact that he was teasing me a little.

"Well, it's late," I said after a moment. "I bid you goodnight, Mr. Rabara."

"Cisco," he reminded me, and I smiled at him with a nod before I took my leave and headed off to bed.

~o~

The next day was a strange one indeed, for upon waking, it occurred to me that my letter was likely on its way to be delivered to Jonathan, as the HMS _Flying Cloud_, the ship that Collins had dispatched it on, had left at dawn, probably some two hours before.

When I made it on deck, where we were still at anchor in Port Calais, I was assaulted instantly by Pintel and Ragetti, who were full of questions about the giant of a pirate that they'd seen accompany Barbossa and myself back from town the evening before.

"Who was that bloke wiv the captain?" Pintel asked me, Ragetti hovering over his shoulder. He still wasn't overly cordial to me, but he'd begun tempering his remarks after developing a grudging admiration for the way I'd handled a gun against Barbossa, and, I suspect, after I managed to pay my debt of a kiss.

"E's a sight, alright," Ragetti chimed in, obviously impressed by Turk's stature and fierce appearance that belied his mostly fun-loving nature. "Tall. Big as..."

"An ox?" I supplied with a smile, and Ragetti grinned.

"At least," he said.

"That is Theodore Robert Kempthorne III," I reported to them, "Barbossa's bo'sun from the _Rogue Wave_, and better known as Turk."

Recognition of the name seemed to dawn across both faces, and Pintel spoke again with a measure of awe in his voice. "Yeh don' say?" he said, clearly impressed, and sharing a look with his nephew.

"You've heard of him?" I asked.

"No self-respectin' pirate wouldn't know who 'e was," Ragetti replied. "Especially us –sailin' wiv Barbossa as long as we 'ave."

I understood. Having been with Barbossa since just after Turk retired, it was very likely that they knew something of Barbossa's former shipmates, especially Turk and Thomas Harlow, the first mate.

I learned from the mismatched pair that the captain had not yet made an appearance on deck, and I surmised from the late hour at which the two friends had retired, and the amount of rum they'd probably shared, that it would be another hour or so before either one of them was conscious.

Sure enough, when I decided to venture into the cabin, quietly pulling open a door and slipping in, much to Pintel and Ragetti's horror, (no crew member in his right mind would typically venture into Barbossa's cabin uninvited) there was no sign of either pirate. I would have assumed they were sleeping if it weren't for the fact that a second after I cleared the doorway, I found myself grabbed from behind with my arm pinned behind my back brutally, and a dagger at my throat.

Barbossa, who actually had been awake, and was ever watchful in his subconscious for signs of crew unrest or disquiet, had quickly taken up position alongside the door when he'd heard someone apparently sneaking in. Fortunately for me, he recognized the fact that it was me he was grabbing the moment he felt the slighter stature of the person in his grasp, and it was the only reason I still stood with the blade pressed against my throat instead of running through it.

I gasped but didn't move, and instantly knew the error of my ways even as he spoke in my ear from behind. "'Twill be the last you enter me cabin without at least a knock, aye, lass?" he asked, keeping me pinned until I answered.

"Yes," I said, a little unevenly from the way my heart was pounding in my chest after being grabbed.

"Good." He made no move to release me or move the dagger, and the next thing I knew he was kissing the side of my neck where I was unable to do anything to resist as my arm was still behind my back, and the dagger was under my chin. I have to admit, although it is a little unsettling to have a dagger pressed across a critical point in one's throat, my attention was equally focused where his mouth was pressed against the opposite side.

I closed my eyes and let him continue, but admonished him gently. "You're not playing by the rules," I said, knowing that I had been quite clear that he was to keep to himself until it could be assumed that my letter had reached its intended recipient.

He broke off from a kiss, speaking near my ear in a hushed voice. "Would you expect any more of me?" he asked, nuzzling back in a little.

"On your own ship?" I asked, gasping a little at how nice his lips felt on my skin. "I'd expect no less of you."

"Smart girl," he said, and then he let go long enough to pull me around to face him. "Ye'd be even smarter to play by my rules, while on my ship," he said softly, clearly in a mood to tease.

"I'd have to know the rules in order to follow them," I whispered back, letting him slip an arm around my waist and draw me in closer.

"Ah, well, rule number one be that the captain's lady must always kiss him goodnight and good mornin'," he said, making his already clear intent known.

"I didn't realize that the captain had a lady," I said, flirting a little, but also slipping in a reminder that I didn't consider myself free to be with him for at least the three days it would take for my letter to arrive.

"From what I hear," he said, undaunted and leaning closer, "he has for many years. 'Tis said she be a creature of unsurpassed beauty and of undyin' devotion," he said, meeting my gaze with his own endless blue one.

I submit that even the most determined of women would have had a difficult time resisting after such a statement, and I found myself engaged with him for a long moment in a gentle, lingering kiss, and then a second deeper one as I slipped my arms around his neck.

We were still occupied in that manner when we were interrupted by Turk speaking from over my shoulder, from where he'd just exited the bedroom. "Gah! Isn't that jus' like yeh, Barbossa! Not even had breakfast yet, an' already lookin' fer a wench to scr..."

"Master Turk," Barbossa said quickly, cutting off whatever indelicate statement the good natured but foul-mouthed bo'sun had been about to make in order to harass his captain. "Must ye call Madeline a wench?" He'd released me to where I was trying to recover from the flush that had spread across my face at having been caught kissing Barbossa in a rather enthusiastic manner.

"What?" Turk asked, shrugging back into his shirt deftly, despite the missing half of his left arm. "She's a right fine one too."

"Thank you, Turk," I said, smiling at his comment, which had obviously been meant to tease.

"Don't mention it," he said with a wink. "Now, how about cookin' breakfast fer ol' Turk and this randy peacock, here?"

"Cook you breakfast?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest and giving him a hard time back. "I'm a surgeon, not a kitchen maid."

Turk waved me off. "Yer a woman, ain't yeh?"

He couldn't keep a completely straight face, and I knew he was just teasing me as usual. No one I knew had a deeper respect for what I was capable of as a doctor, and to him, me being a woman had no bearing on that opinion whatsoever. That didn't keep him from making sexist remarks in order to get me riled, though.

Barbossa, hoping to salvage the possibility of having another meal made by me, and not the current cook of the _Black Pearl_, to whom the crew very loosely applied the term, stepped into the conversation quickly. "What Turk means, Madeline, is that we were so fond of what ye made fer us last evening, that we'd be inclined to see if ye could find it in yer heart to have pity on two old rogues and..."

"Alright," I said, giving in, knowing that most of what came out of the galley at present was barely edible and quite tasteless, "but just for you two. I am not going to spend my time cooking for a ship full of pirates."

"Thankee, May," Barbossa said as I left to head to the galley.

Alone in the galley as I cooked, I had time to mull over how quickly my life had changed in a week, and to wonder how much more it would change once my letter reached Port Royal in three days.

What I didn't know then, and wouldn't for some time to come, were several things which had happened that would influence my life in the not so distant future, and they involved the man I most cared about in Jamaica, and the one I most disliked.

Charles Beckett, having quickly taken the measure of my connection to Barbossa, after Simpson informed him that I'd been the sole reason for the pirate's escape, had gone to Jonathan Groves straightaway as I'd surmised.

What I hadn't guessed, though, was that the _Enterprise,_ under the command of my fiancée, had been ready to put to sea anyway, and had almost immediately set out after the _Black Pearl._ Although he didn't know exactly where our destination was, he knew our rough heading had been west, and when he was hailed by Captain Flint of the recently raided _Essex,_ that heading had been confirmed, and still the _Enterprise_ pursued us and searched.

The second thing that happened, which I wouldn't know for some time, was that Charles Beckett, with his own agenda firmly in mind, had made it a point to not tell Jonathan that I had voluntarily helped Barbossa escape hanging in Port Royal, but that Barbossa had kidnapped me and taken me hostage once more, sending Jonathan into a righteous fervor about hunting down the _Black Pearl's_ current captain.

While I lamented the fact that I'd lost my horse, my home and my career, I knew my hospital would be well-looked after by my two colleagues, that my horse would be well cared for by Charles Beckett, despite the fact that I wished he were with anyone else. When I pined over the fact that I'd lost everything else in my life, I found that all I had to do was to consider losing the man who had swept back in it a handful of days before, and I found it was the one thought I couldn't stand to contemplate. It made the loss of my life as I'd known it somewhat easier to bear.

Time would prove that I had made the right decision, but that didn't mean that everything would be smooth sailing in the interim.

~o~

After breakfast, and Turk informing me with a wry smile that he couldn't wait to see what I created for dinner, in no uncertain terms letting me know that he was expecting special treatment to continue, Barbossa made it a point to introduce him around to the crew, first and foremost making sure that he met Pintel and Ragetti, and especially Joshamee Gibbs, without whom the ship would not run nearly as smoothly as she did.

Gibbs and Turk seemed to hit it off from the first, and it made Turk's addition to the crew go as smoothly as could be hoped for. It didn't hurt that Turk was somewhat of a legend among pirates of the Caribbean, and that his great stature, despite the missing half an arm and somewhat advanced age compared to the crew's average, was still impressive and somewhat intimidating.

~o~

In many parts of the Caribbean, as with many parts of England and Europe, the harvest season is marked by celebration and merrymaking, with the difference being that in the part of the Caribbean we were in, the crop being harvested that time of year was sugarcane instead of wheat or corn or rye.

The small island that Port Calais was part of, was one of those that produced a fair amount of the crop, making it's own contribution to international trade, and more importantly, if one happened to be a pirate, to the local production of rum.

The week the _Black Pearl _witnessed Turk joining her crew, as she lay becalmed in the harbor, was the week that Port Calais would celebrate her most recent harvest, with a festival of drinking, dancing, drinking, eating and more drinking.

The benefit to our crew was that the local officials and the fort were kept busy trying to see to it that order was maintained, and didn't pay much attention to the specific nature of the large influx of patrons, as long as they were orderly. It also meant, with the addition of several more ships in the harbor, bringing pirates and merchants to town to enjoy the festival, that the black ship, whose captain kept every inch of her trademark black canvas furled, was not scrutinized nearly as carefully as she might have otherwise been.

Turk managed to earn some addition points with the crew, once he'd been on board for a day or so, by suggesting to Barbossa that we let the men stay long enough to enjoy the festival and take time to live it up a little.

Barbossa, who would have been typically inclined to not spend more time than was absolutely necessary, decided for two reasons to follow Turk's suggestion.

The first was that the crew, while well pleased with the haul they'd taken from the _Essex_ under Barbossa's guidance, was still a bit disgruntled about the map Barbossa had previously had in his possession being stolen by one, Jack Sparrow, and he viewed letting them make merry at the festival a way to keep them occupied while he decided on his next course of action and heading for the _Pearl_.

The second reason, unbeknownst to me at first, although one he evidently had shared with Turk, was that he still had unfinished business in Port Calais, the nature of which had nothing to do with my communication with my soon-to-be former fiancée.

It wouldn't take long before I found out just what it was that my dear pirate captain was up to, and life aboard the _Black Pearl_ would become even more complicated.

~o~


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three **

~o~

_Turk managed to earn some addition points with the crew, once he'd been on board for a day or so, by suggesting to Barbossa that we let the men stay long enough to enjoy the festival and take time to live it up a little._

_Barbossa, who would have been typically inclined to not spend more time than was absolutely necessary, decided for two reasons to follow Turk's suggestion._

_The first was that the crew, while well pleased with the haul they'd taken from the Essex under Barbossa's guidance, was still a bit disgruntled about the map Barbossa had previously had in his possession being stolen by one, Jack Sparrow, and he viewed letting them make merry at the festival a way to keep them occupied while he decided on his next course of action and heading for the Pearl._

_The second reason, unbeknownst to me at first, although one he evidently had shared with Turk, was that he still had unfinished business in Port Calais, the nature of which had nothing to do with my communication with my soon-to-be former fiancée._

_It wouldn't take long before I found out just what it was that my dear pirate captain was up to, and life aboard the Black Pearl would become even more complicated._

~o~

The day that would mark the culmination of the celebration in Port Calais was one that would find the crew of the _Black Pearl_, including her new surgeon, overindulging in food and drink while making merry during the festivities that night.

Despite the fact that Port Calais wasn't considered nearly as dangerous as Tortuga, Barbossa insisted, as before, that if I were to spend time ashore, it would be in the company of himself and Turk, in part to make sure I met with no mischief, and in part because he actually confessed to being in good spirits and felt like enjoying the town with me.

What I know is his more pleasant overall mood was due in part to his reunion with Turk, a successful haul of swag from the recent raid, and from what Turk mentioned offhand to me in passing, (in a way that I will paraphrase instead of quoting exactly the uncouth statement that the bo'sun made) was that Barbossa was keenly aware of the passage of three days since I'd sent my letter, and as per our agreement when I'd written it, that would be the night that I had agreed to finally go willingly to his bed for more than sleep.

Barbossa, upon hearing Turk's opinion of just why it was that he was in a fine mood, merely shrugged. "A humble pirate such as meself has but simple needs, lass," he'd said, referring to the one he'd not had addressed any time recently.

That evening as we entered Port Calais, intent on dining a bit extravagantly and then exploring the festival for a while, I was full of mixed feelings. While there was no going back on the decision I'd made, I couldn't help but feel awful at the thought of Jonathan opening the letter. On the other hand, I felt a great measure of relief at having likely gotten the difficult task over with, and it was that feeling of relief that stayed with me and grew as the night wore on.

The three of us found a corner table near a window accessible as an emergency exit, in a tavern of fair reputation and fairer food, and if anyone had given our party a second glance while we sat at dinner, it likely would have been a brief one after noting that a lady of apparent good breeding sat accompanied by her disguised but more than presentable companions.

I had one moment of near panic when I noted two officers from Fort William enter the tavern in the company of Lieutenant Collins, but Barbossa, spotting him the same time I did, neatly diffused the situation by having a bottle of wine sent to the table the officers sat at, compliments of Monsieur Dumond for Collins' earlier kindness toward his daughter.

Collins, seeing we were in the middle of dinner, merely caught Barbossa's eye and raised a glass of wine in his direction as acknowledgement and thanks. To this day I wonder if he ever found out that he'd actually been toasting the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea.

We were conversing pleasantly and nearly done eating (the food was decent, but better than anything the current _Pearl's _cook could have dreamed of preparing) when a young member of the crew, a gunner named Samuels, came in to find Barbossa and quickly delivered a message before his presence gathered much notice.

Barbossa shared a knowing look with Turk, and I knew there was something important I had been left out of.

"What?" I asked, trying to still appear casual as I took a sip of my wine.

"Nothin ye need concern yerself with, lass," Barbossa replied, and then he spoke to Turk. "We need to go now," he whispered, eliciting a nod from the bo'sun.

"We need to go where?" I asked more insistently.

"Not _we_, as in you, but _we_ as in Turk and I," Barbossa replied, giving me a look that said he wasn't about to discuss the matter. "I wager ye'll be fine on yer own for a short while here, while Turk and I tend to business that needs to be addressed."

"What are you up to?" I asked suspiciously, not liking being left out of important matters.

"I'll tell you later," Barbossa promised. "We'll likely not be more'n half an hour."

With that and no further explanation, Barbossa stood, and after making sure that I had enough gold coins in my hand to cover dinner and probably dinner for the next two weeks, he exited with Turk, leaving me to my own company at the table.

After clearing away the remains of dinner, the young girl who had been working very hard to keep up with the number of people that patronized the tavern that night was good enough to bring me another glass of wine. After seeing the condition of the hem of the dress she wore, I decided to spend a little more of Barbossa's money, and I furtively slipped a hefty gold coin into her apron pocket which I knew she wouldn't find until later. I smiled to myself as I pictured her wondering just where it'd come from.

I had plenty of time to surreptitiously monitor the parties at the surrounding tables, and after a while of people watching, grew bored with trying to make snatched fragments of nearby conversations into something worth listening to. I took to looking over the condition of the building, noting that it was worn but clean, yet decorated only with a single painting of a great sailing ship which hung over an empty chair in one corner near the large fireplace.

While the painting was nothing special, and likewise the chair was fairly mundane in appearance, it was the person about to occupy the chair that caught my attention where he was about to sit down; a bottle of rum was in one hand, and what appeared to be a guitar in the other. Knowing it wasn't unusual for street musicians to take advantage of a busy night at a business such as the one I was in, I surmised that the man with the guitar was thinking he'd likely do well that evening with the amount of money all the people in port for the festival were freely spending.

The three officers across the room, suddenly laughing at something one of them had said, caught my attention for a moment, and preoccupied with the hope that Collins would not take it upon himself to join me at my solitary table, I lost track of what the street musician was doing until he began strumming a series of chords across the room. The guitar was across his lap and the bottle of rum on the floor between his feet; he seemed absorbed in what he was doing as his fingers nimbly began dancing across the strings, while he played an intricate tune of decidedly Spanish origin.

I am no musician, although I have a great appreciation for those with skill in the art, such as was apparent in my old friend Michael Bellamy with the phenomenal singing voice, and was also apparent that night in the man who seemed content to be lost in his own little world with the guitar in the corner of the tavern of Port Calais during carnival.

I couldn't help but be impressed with the obvious ease with which he performed the demanding piece; his eyes closed in concentration as he played. A couple of minutes had passed without me realizing how long I'd been watching him play, and even then it was only because as he finished the song he opened his eyes, meeting mine across the room with a dark brown gaze, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he realized I'd been monitoring his efforts. I smiled back briefly and returned to my glass of wine, wondering where it was that my two companions had gone off to again.

When next he began to play, it took me a minute to decide just where it was that I'd heard the slow tune he strummed, and when recognition of the dark but lovely melody dawned on me, I knew it was the song sung by Michael Bellamy, of all people, that night so many years ago on the deck of the _Rogue Wave_. I wondered where the man with the guitar had learned it as I watched him play once more with his eyes closed, fond thoughts of Bellamy in my head, and contemplation of where he might be at present foremost in my mind, even as the man stopped playing.

Too absorbed in my own thoughts, and well into my third glass of wine, I wouldn't have noticed the absence of the guitar for another minute or two, if it weren't for the fact that at that moment, the owner of the guitar had spun the chair across the table from me around and seated himself, straddling it casually and leaning one arm across the back.

"Enjoy the guitar, do you?" he asked, his manner casual and pleasant, and I got the impression as I looked up at him that he was doing his best to appear non-threatening.

Knowing that Collins and his two officers were just across the room, and emboldened a little by my share of wine, I spoke back. "Your playing is lovely," I said pleasantly. "Might I ask where it is you learned that second song?"

My newfound companion met my gaze with his own deep dark one, and a wry smile crossed his lips as he answered me very softly. "A pirate," was the only thing he said by way of an answer.

"Really?" I asked, even more intrigued by where he might have heard it before.

"Hard to believe, I know," he said, taking a swig from the bottle of rum he'd carried over with him. It was the gesture of offering it to me across the table that started confirming for me that my current companion more than likely was of similar occupation as the man who had taught him the song.

I politely declined, and pressed him further with questions. "This _pirate _who taught you the song," I began, keeping my voice down, "was he about your age and dark like you?" I'd noted that my new acquaintance's sun-bronzed skin and nearly black hair were very similar to the coloration of Bellamy's dark complexion. In fact, the man across the table from me, despite the fact that he wore his hair in the cascade of purposeful tangles favored by many of the local island natives, was not unpleasant to look upon in the least, as was the case with my friend Bellamy from years before.

He pursed his lips in thought, appearing to be deciding if he should answer. "He was," he replied after a moment, "or rather he is, but I'm sure that an upstanding lady such as yourself wouldn't have had occasion to make the acquaintance of the likes of him."

I already knew he was scrutinizing my appearance, and suspected that I was likely not what I appeared on the surface. Few people probably were that night of carnival.

I smiled at him again. "Let's just say, for sake of argument, that I might have had such an occasion," I said. "What might have been the name of the man who taught you that song?"

"Names are a dangerous thing to give away, love," he said, giving me another disarming smile, and clearly not ready to tell me what I wanted to know. "Take you, for instance. If I asked you, would you tell me what name it is that you go by tonight?"

"Tonight?" I asked, smiling back as I realized he knew I probably wouldn't part with my real name. "What name do you think I should go by tonight?" I asked him, flirting a little.

He recognized the fact that I was, and wasted no time in flirting back. "The name I would have you go by is Gwenevere," he said softly, turning up the charm.

I had all I could do not to smile. "And I suppose you fancy yourself a Lancelot?" I asked, teasing him a little.

"Why not?" he asked, giving me a roguish grin, and then taking another pull from the bottle.

"If I recall the story accurately, sir, Gwenevere and Lancelot got themselves into an awful lot of mischief together," I said, scolding him lightly but still content to flirt from the safety of the far side of the table.

"You read me mind," he said, leaving it up in the air as to whether he meant he'd been thinking the same thing about the famous pair, or had been contemplating getting into a certain sort of mischief with me.

I still found I was struggling not to smile, despite his implied impropriety. "I'd be willing to bet that you're more than just a simple street musician if you know that legend so well," I accused him softly, taking a sip from my wineglass.

"More than a simple street musician? Aye, but not tonight," he replied smoothly, all but confirming he had likely arrived in town on a pirate ship.

"Well, Gwen," he said, standing and catching up his bottle of rum and his guitar, "it's been nice chatting with you, darling. Going to be in town for the rest of the festival tonight, are you?"

"Yes," I said, noting he wasn't quite as tall as Bellamy had been.

"Well then, perhaps you'll find dear ol' Lancelot for a dance later," he said, offering me another winning smile.

I smiled at him as he was about to go. "Perhaps," I said, hating to turn him down flat after he'd been so charming, but knowing it would be highly unlikely.

"Perhaps," he echoed back, meeting my eyes with an amazing deep chocolate gaze. "Good enough, then. Ta, love," he said, raising the rum bottle at me in a sort of salute, and he took his leave from the tavern.

Thirty seconds later, Turk and Barbossa found their way back to where I sat alone once again, and I stood to accompany them out.

"Any trouble, lass?" Barbossa asked, as we headed with Turk out into streets that were getting progressively more crowded with people who were becoming progressively more merry.

"None –just a little flirting from a street musician is all," I replied. "Did you accomplish what you set out to do?"

Barbossa shook his head. "Wasn't him," he said, a measure of disappointment in his tone.

"Who...wasn't _who_?" I asked, confused but understanding that Turk and Barbossa had gone in search of someone.

"Later," was all Barbossa said, and he offered me his arm.

I took it and let him escort me as our threesome came upon an area where music was playing, and a large number of people, under the influence of plenty of rum, had taken to dancing together in the street. It wasn't long before we spotted several members of the crew of the _Black Pearl_, doing their best to join in and take advantage of the evening's festive atmosphere.

While I knew by then, after having a fair amount of wine, that I would be best off staying away from indulging in rum of any significance, I still blame Barbossa for introducing me that night, to a drink that was to be my undoing.

Innocent enough on the surface, and tasting of cane syrup and lime, it nevertheless contained a heavy amount of rum, which was easy to overlook with the sweetness of the beverage. I'd like to think that he simply meant for me to experience something new, and didn't mean to take advantage of my poor tolerance for the rum it contained, seeking in any way to ensure my compliance for later that evening. He'd assured me that he'd never do such a thing, so I must still give him the benefit of the doubt, but that doesn't mean that I don't still have my suspicions.

It was after drinking my second measure of the dangerous little concoction that I actually consented when Turk took me by the arm, much to Barbossa's amusement, and dragged me a short distance into the crowd to dance with him. I had no qualms about placing one hand on what remained of his left elbow, as I was the one who had given him the deformity he now bore, in order to save his life. With his other hand at my waist, and mine on his shoulder, he had me laughing gaily as he spun me around, lightheaded from just a little too much rum, and relieved by that point, I felt, of my obligation to Jonathan Groves.

Perhaps I would have felt more guilt than relief if I'd indulged in less rum, and happened to be someplace else than in the middle of the festival at Port Calais, but the combination of relief and rum were very freeing at that moment.

At one point, some minutes later, still dancing with Turk, I caught sight of Barbossa watching me, a slight smile on his lips, and I watched him casually glance skyward, probably judging time by just where the moon was climbing to.

When he looked back at me it was with something just a bit more intense in his gaze, and I knew he must have in mind that it would be time for me to accompany him back to the _Pearl_ soon.

Once again, I experienced feelings of several sorts all at once; part of me nervous about sharing with him what we hadn't in such a long period of time, and hoping to postpone that moment a bit longer, and part of me anxious to go to him, as I'd longed to do for nearly ten years while we'd been apart. I settled for deciding that I would comply with his request, but not without delaying just a tiny bit longer.

I could tell that he was intent on making his way to where I was dancing with Turk in order to retrieve me, but I had seen Gibbs a short distance away, and after sharing a bit of a shy look that told him I knew what he was up to, I laughed again, deciding to tease, and ducked further through the crowd to meet up with Gibbs.

Gibbs had had enough to drink that he was willing to catch me up for a dance, and I spoke with him for some moments until I caught sight of Barbossa again, moving along the edge of the crowd in search of where I'd gone. When he discovered me dancing with the first mate, he rolled his eyes at me a little, trying not to smile, and he made as if he were headed in my direction again.

Letting him get just a little bit closer, I gave him a look that clearly told him he was going to have to catch me if he wanted me, and ducked through the crowd again, leaving him with the understanding that I was mischievously playing hard to get.

I ended up in the arms of a pirate I'd never met, being twirled around twice before he released me to continued dancing on his own, and when I found Barbossa again, he was pacing along the perimeter of the crowd, stalking me and watching me with a look that clearly had something predatory within its depths. I confess with the amount of rum I'd once again consumed, I found that look intoxicating, and knew when he caught up to me that I'd not deny him what I knew I also wanted.

I was running out of crowd, and I decided to torment him one last time, ducking again through the revelers to lead him on my playful chase. Trying to see where he was as I looked through the wall of people between me and where I'd last spotted him, I wasn't entirely paying attention to where I was going, and I accidentally bumped into someone soundly.

"Oh! Pardon me," I started to apologize, embarrassed that I'd been so clumsy.

"Well, if it isn't the lovely Gwenevere."

I looked up into the dark eyes of the man who had been playing guitar in the tavern, and found I was just as amused as he was that I was a little bit tipsy and had been so preoccupied that I banged into him.

"Come to have a dance with Lancelot after all, ay?" He instantly caught up one hand, and placed his other, which held a bottle of rum, against my waist, and swept me around in a half circle, causing me to scream lightly and laugh at myself for doing so.

"What are you doing out here unescorted, milady?" he asked, acting serious in a very contrived way. "Don't you know there are pirates out here that might intend to do you _mischief_?"

"Would one of them be named Lancelot?" I flirted, but the accusation against his intention stood as he twirled me around and pulled me back in, my back to him and one arm around my waist, the other holding mine and the bottle of rum as we continued to dance, swaying together like that for a moment.

"Not at all," he assured me, whispering the words in my ear in a way that told me the type of mischief he'd referred to was _exactly_ what he had in mind. "Just looking to enjoy life a bit and a dance with a beautiful woman."

"If you say so," I said over my shoulder to him playfully.

"That I do, love," he said again, twirling me out away and back to once more wrap an arm around my waist, this time tighter than I would have liked, and I sobered just a little and tried to move away. He only tightened the grip he had about my waist, and dropping the rum bottle, grabbed my arm and pinned it behind my back, pulling me back against him firmly.

"Let go!" I demanded, getting more concerned by the moment.

"Sorry, Gwen," he said, actually sounding apologetic, and when I glanced back over my shoulder at him, I saw his gaze was intensely focused just ahead of where we stood. I jumped a little upon turning back around, never expecting to come face to face with the muzzle of the pistol that was pointed my direction from a very short distance away, and never expecting that pistol to be pointing from Barbossa's hand.

Of course, I knew instantly that the gun was aimed at my companion and not at me, and that the man who held me prisoner at the moment, was using me as a human shield.

Barbossa cocked the trigger and spoke in a low deadly voice. "Ye'd best be lettin' the lady go."

"Apologies, mate," my captor said, seeming relatively unflustered, "but she makes a lovely bit of insurance, as you can see."

"It'll do you no good," Barbossa snarled, still pointing the gun.

"Going to pull that trigger on an innocent woman, are you, Barbossa? It'd be a shame to put a hole in one this fine," the man holding me replied flippantly.

"Don't need to," Barbossa simply said, and even over the music in the background I heard the click of another pistol being cocked somewhere behind me.

"_Bugger_!" my captor cursed under his breath, and I realized that he must have a gun pointed at his head, even as he slowly released his grip on me.

I yanked my arm away and stepped quickly out of the line of fire, seeing that Turk had come up behind the musician and put a pistol to his head as I'd suspected, but at that moment Gibbs happened upon our odd little group and dropped the bottle of rum he'd been carrying.

"Cap'n!" he exclaimed, causing the man on either end of the pistol to glance at him, and it was at that moment I realized just what had been going on, as well as the fact that I hadn't been dancing with Lancelot...

I'd been dancing with Jack Sparrow.

~o~


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four **

~o~

_"Going to pull that trigger on an innocent woman, are you, Barbossa? It'd be a shame to put a hole in one this fine," the man holding me replied flippantly._

_"Don't need to," Barbossa simply said, and even over the music in the background I heard the click of another pistol being cocked somewhere behind me._

_"Bugger!" my captor cursed under his breath, and I realized that he must have a gun pointed at his head, even as he slowly released his grip on me._

_I yanked my arm away and stepped quickly out of the line of fire, seeing that Turk had come up behind the musician and put a pistol to his head as I'd suspected, but at that moment Gibbs happened upon our odd little group and dropped the bottle of rum he'd been carrying._

_"Cap'n!" he exclaimed, causing the man on either end of the pistol to glance at him, and it was at that moment I realized just what had been going on, as well as the fact that I hadn't been dancing with Lancelot..._

_I'd been dancing with Jack Sparrow._

_~o~_

My dance partner continued to stare at the business end of the gun aimed at his heart, looking unhappy but a lot more composed than I would have been, were our positions reversed. He finally let his gaze travel up to meet Barbossa's as he spoke.

"You're not _really_ planning on pulling that trigger, now are you, Hector?" he asked, actually letting a tiny smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Seems to me it'd be near impossible for you to get what you're looking for if you did."

Barbossa looked thoughtful for a moment, and then actually smiled back, but it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nay, yer right, Jack," he said, uncocking the gun. "I don't really plan on shootin' yeh." He tucked the pistol away at his hip.

The younger pirate smiled winningly. "I knew you wouldn't do it," he said, just a tad daringly, about two seconds before Barbossa's fist collided violently with his jaw, snapping his head to one side and throwing him off balance. He winced as he looked back at Barbossa, wiping away blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now, _that_, I thought you might do."

He then frowned, and appeared to be fishing inside his cheek with his tongue, and after a couple of seconds, spat a small nugget of blood and saliva covered gold into the palm of his hand. He shot Barbossa a dirty look. "I just had that one put in," he scolded, and he pocketed the tooth.

"Jack! What are yeh doin' here?" Gibbs asked, clearly the only one to be happy to see him at the moment.

"Apparently having my face re-arranged for carnival," he said, shooting another rueful look at Barbossa, even as Pintel and Ragetti joined our group, wide-eyed at seeing Jack still being held at gunpoint by Turk.

"Masters Pintel and Ragetti," Barbossa said, addressing the pair that was sharing looks of amusement at the situation, "would ye be so kind as to help Turk escort Cap'n Jack, here, to the _Black Pearl_."

"Mighty kind of you to want to reunite me with my ship," Jack said smartly.

"Aye, I thought ye might miss 'er, Jack," Barbossa said in return, "so Turk'll see to it that ye have plenty of time to catch up…._in the brig_."

Jack's face dropped even as Barbossa turned to speak to me. "You come with me," he ordered, offering me his arm.

I decided that the wisest thing I could do at that moment was to follow the order quickly, and I glanced at Sparrow once more as I slipped my hand under Barbossa's elbow, unsure just how I felt about finally coming face to face with the man who had shot him two years before.

Jack frowned upon seeing me join Barbossa. "Gwen," he said, placing his hand over his heart in a gesture of mock agony, "don't tell me you're actually with this wretched old reprobate."

I nodded silently, tightening my grasp on Barbossa's arm as I felt him start toward Jack in irritation, and he halted, settling for snarling at the others to take Jack away once more.

"Righ' this way, Cap'n," Pintel said, as he and Ragetti flanked Jack and marched him off toward the dock, Turk following along behind with his pistol still pointed at Jack's back.

Gibbs stood there, looking uncertain as he debated if he should follow to see to it that Jack was alright, or if he would offend Barbossa by doing so. In the end, after a brief moment of struggle, he must have decided that Jack could manage on his own, and he set out through the crowd in search of more rum, leaving me alone in the middle of the festivities with Barbossa.

"Come," he said softly, meaning to lead me out of the crowd, and I picked up my skirt in my free hand and followed along.

He waited until we were clear of the celebrating throng before speaking. "Yer unharmed?" he asked, obviously referring to the fact that he'd seen Jack grab me to use as a defense against being shot.

"Yes, fine," I said back quietly, lost in my own thoughts.

"What is it that yer thinkin' about?" Barbossa asked after a few minutes of no conversation from me.

"Jack," I said, watching his expression harden a little.

"What about 'im?" Barbossa asked stiffly.

"Nothing, it's just odd to meet the man who nearly…." I hesitated, "who did kill you."

"'Tis all in the past, now," he said, placing his hand over mine where it held his arm. "I'd prefer to not speak of him again this evenin', if ye don't mind."

"Alright," I said, still mulling over how I felt about things silently.

"Let it go, lass," he said softly, smiling a little and knowing I was still contemplating what had just happened.

I smiled at the fact that he knew me well enough to know what was going on in my head, and walked along for another moment or two before I realized that we were heading away from the harbor and not toward it. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"I have a surprise," Barbossa replied back knowingly.

"I'm not sure I can deal with any more surprises this week," I said, causing him to chuckle.

"I think ye'll like this one," he whispered confidently. He drew me to one side of the street we'd been walking along, once we got to the far end where the number of people out and about had dropped to next to nothing, and we stood in front of a large well kept inn called _The Last Port._

"What is this place?" I asked, as he led me to the door.

"A surprise," was all he would say, and he escorted me inside where the innkeeper, a tall lanky gentleman, seemed to recognize Barbossa, and he crossed to where we were standing with a warm smile on his face.

"_Senhor da Silva_," he said, shaking hands with Barbossa, as I tried to act natural. "Everything is as you asked. It will take just a few moments to see to the last details."

"_Bom_. I am sure everything will be satisfactory," Barbossa said, looking pleased and suddenly sounding quite Portuguese. I knew enough about his past to know that his current alias was the name of a very good friend of his from years before.

The innkeeper then focused his attention on me. "So, this would be the lovely _Senhora da Silva_?" he asked as I smiled at him.

"_Sim_…yes," Barbossa replied.

"You are a very lucky man, _Senhor_," the innkeeper said with a gracious smile.

"You have no idea," Barbossa replied with a grin.

The innkeeper excused himself and went to see to the last details of whatever it was that he and Barbossa had been discussing, and I began to pester him about what exactly we were doing at the inn.

"If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?" Barbossa asked.

"I suppose not," I said, completely confused.

He leaned closer to whisper in my ear. "Do ye trust me?" he asked me softly.

"Yes," I said, causing him to smile a little. It was only a moment later that the innkeeper returned to let us know whatever it was that awaited us was ready.

"Up the stairs, here," he said, guiding us to a grand staircase as he spoke with my pirate companion. He confided some additional information to Barbossa in a voice that was soft enough for me not to hear, and I realized that he was apparently an accomplice in seeing to it that I remained surprised.

"_Muito bem_," Barbossa said with a nod, and then he thanked the man and led me up the elegant staircase.

It wouldn't take a genius to understand that Barbossa had apparently arranged a location for our impending tryst rather than just returning to his cabin aboard the _Black Pearl_, but I wasn't in any way prepared for what he'd actually done. We stopped in front of a closed door on the second floor, and I hesitated, suddenly feeling a bit awkward about the fact that once I crossed the threshold of that room, there would be no turning back.

Apparently amused by my hesitation, Barbossa stepped closer and ran one finger gently across my cheek and then indicated the door. "Come to the end of the hall when yer ready," he said softly, meeting my eyes for just a moment, and then leaving me to stand alone in the hallway. I watched where he went to another room at the very end without looking back, and I opened the door and closed it behind me when I stepped through.

It was a small guestroom, appointed with fine furnishings and luxurious linens, no different from many upper-end inns that I'd seen before, but it was the way things had been arranged in the room that immediately grabbed my attention.

No lanterns or lamps had been lit, as was an innkeeper's wont when a guest arrived, but the room was softly lighted with dozens of candles that had been placed on the nightstands, the table and the mantle over the fireplace, in which a tiny fire flickered. It took me a minute to take in how the room had been prepared, and then my attention was caught by something on the bed before me.

An elegant white dress, apparently one intended more as night attire, lay upon the quilt, and when I picked it up to examine its fine fabric and delicate lace, it took me only seconds to realize the garment was backless. I smiled and bit my lower lip a little, knowing that if Barbossa had been in the room with me he likely would have seen a flush of color on my cheeks. I stood there for the longest while, contemplating the gown and the thought that had gone into its procurement, and I almost didn't notice the note and small bottle on the nightstand next to where I stood.

I picked up the small piece of paper, and in familiar angular handwriting were the words, '_If you would, Milady_?' Apparently it was a request, and just what that request was became apparent as I picked up the bottle of French lavender perfume sitting next to where the note had been.

I continued to smile, knowing that if I had had any last shred of hesitation about our evening together, his efforts were serving to dispel them handily. Knowing I couldn't refuse such an elegant request, I made the effort to change and dab on a tiny bit of the perfume. Before my growing anxiety could get the best of me, I pulled open the door and boldly stepped into the hallway.

I made it as far as the door I had seen Barbossa disappear through, and I hesitated, taking a deep breath and letting it out again as I steeled myself to knock, deciding that I'd best do so quickly, mostly because I didn't want to be caught in the hallway in my current state of dress should any other guests venture out of their rooms, but also because I knew I needed to get it over with.

I raised my hand to knock, and then withdrew it, taking another deep breath. I fussed with my hair for a moment, and then smoothed the dress out in front a little, stalling as I tried to gather the courage I needed. Once more, I raise my hand, and I was standing there waging my inner battle, knuckles poised over the panel of the door, when Barbossa spoke to me, causing me to turn to see where he was leaning against a recessed window casing in the hall, arms fold across his chest. He was in shirtsleeves, and his own long hair was loose about his shoulders, freed from the black silk ribbon that had bound it during the day.

"You," he said softly, "are the loveliest thing I've ever set eyes upon." He uncrossed his arms and came toward me, where I was suddenly feeling quite self-conscious and a little shy. He looked me over for a moment, and then his gaze came back to meet mine, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached up and caressed my cheek tenderly for a moment. "Would ye share this night with me, M'lady?" he asked softly, meeting me with that mesmerizing endless blue gaze.

Unable to find my voice at that moment, I nodded and smiled at him.

"Come then," he said, withdrawing his fingers from my face and opening the door for me. I entered the room ahead of him, and drew up as abruptly as if I'd hit a wall, staring in disbelief at what was before me, and clamping a hand over my mouth to cover the gasp I let escape.

The large elegant sitting room, in a manner similar to the one I'd changed in, was lit by dozens of candles placed around the furnishings and the mantel, and shadows flickered warmly across the walls, caused both by the candles and the fire that had been lit in the fireplace. A table and two chairs sat not far from the fireplace, and on the table was a bottle of wine and two glasses, placed next to a large bouquet of flowers in an elegant vase. I didn't need to inspect them at a closer distance to know the bouquet must be identical to the one Barbossa had sent me ten years before, and that the bottle was undoubtedly a French red.

He watched me stand there in shock, appearing to grow concerned at my hesitation and struggle at that moment not to cry, and he touched my shoulder tenderly. "Is there somethin' not to yer likin'?" he asked, not understanding the nature of the tears I struggled with.

I shook my head so he'd understand I wasn't upset, buying myself a moment so I could actually find my voice, and I managed to smile at him through the tears that were winning out. "No man has ever done something so nice for me," I whispered.

Barbossa smiled at me, relieved as he understood the emotions besetting me at that moment, and he came to stand closer and not unexpectedly, made light of the situation to get me to stop crying. "'Tis a crime each of them should be sentenced to the gallows fer," he said wryly, "to neglect so fine a lady like that." I laughed a little and he went on. "And they say I be blackhearted."

I smiled at his comments and wiped away the tears. "Are you?" I asked, being a bit playful in return.

"Aye, lass," he said, apparently only half in jest, "and ye'd best know that about me from beginnin' to finish." He stepped even closer and reached out to touch my hair. "Except where ye'd be concerned," he whispered. "There be naught that I wouldn't do for you, _minha flor encantadora_."

"What does that mean?" I asked him, going to stand by the fire to confirm what I had already suspected about the lavender and roses in the vase. "You've said that to me a number of times, and I want to know."

Apparently he'd been busy examining the back of my dress, or lack thereof, and hadn't really been paying attention to what I asked. "Hmm?" he asked distractedly, as I turned around to look to him for an answer. "Oh. 'Tis Portuguese for 'my lovely flower,'" he replied.

Enchanted, I nevertheless couldn't help but smirk just a little. "That's an awfully sweet thing for a pirate to say."

Barbossa frowned. "It'll be the plank fer you, Doctor Gray, if ye tell a single livin' soul."

I laughed again and gestured about the elegant and romantic surroundings. "And this? What if I tell anyone you were responsible for this?" I teased.

He suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable, something I'd rarely seen from him, and I'd go so far as to say his expression might have even been a tiny bit sheepish. Intuitively I latched onto the reason, hazarding a guess. "You had help coming up with this," I accused him gently. It wasn't much of a stretch to think he'd had input from another source, seeing as I was standing beside one of the fiercest pirates of the Caribbean.

He scowled at me a little, obviously embarrassed, and he walked a pace or two away. "If it amuses you - half me bloody crew contributed, and the other bloody half likely knows by now."

I fought back a laugh, not wanting to cause him any more discomfort than he was in at that moment. "Turk?" I asked gently.

"Aye," he growled over his shoulder, clearly unhappy.

I continued to smile as I watched him staring out the window. "Ragetti must have had a hand in this?"

"Aye, and Pintel and Gibbs," he said sharply, folding his arms across his chest.

I poured two glasses of wine, and went to him with the peace offering where he was obviously pouting. "You know," I said, waiting patiently for him to take the glass I offered him, "not only is this the most amazing surprise anyone has ever given me, it makes it even more special that you risked abuse by your crew in order to make it perfect."

He glanced at me, still glowering. "It does?" he asked, and I noted he didn't sound quite so defensive.

"In my book," I said, offering the glass of wine once more. He finally uncrossed his arms and took it from me.

"While you might get a few odd looks from the crew," I said, after taking a sip of wine, "I noticed that it's none of them that are about to bed the _Black Pearl's_ surgeon."

I still take some small satisfaction from the fact that Barbossa choked a little on the sip of wine he'd taken just before my statement, and I watched him coughing and trying not to laugh at the same time for a minute or two until he composed himself.

I laughed a little at his reaction, and then reached up and gently wiped a drop of wine from his recently tidied beard with my thumb. "Perhaps we can save this for later," I said, gently retrieving his glass of wine from him and setting it on the windowsill next to mine. He said nothing, but watched me quietly as I turned back to him and reached back up to caress his cheek.

He closed his eyes, a tiny smile on his lips and he let me place both hands against his face, gently moving my fingers across his skin, and then tracing the edge of his beard to run them back along his jaw. I reached up to run my fingers along his brow, and smoothed his long hair, sliding my hands behind his head to pull him ever so gently forward.

Content to let me initiate any physical contact, Barbossa kept his eyes closed and placed his hands on my waist as I leaned up to place the lightest kiss I could manage against his lips. I kissed him again, only brushing my lips across his, and then I kissed him several more times the same way again: tenderly affectionate but teasing. When at last he sought to deepen the next kiss, I pulled away a little, again playing coy, and he opened his eyes when he discovered I was teasing him still.

"Careful, lass," he admonished me softly. "That be a dangerous game yer playin'."

"Is it?" I whispered, my voice full of contrived innocence.

"Aye," he replied, tightening his grip and leaning down to try to kiss me again. I waited until just before his lips met mine and turned my head abruptly, smiling to myself over his flash of irritation that came and went in an instant.

"I warned ye," he growled softly, and suddenly he had a handful of my hair in his hand, pulling enough to tip my head back and hold me firmly where I was as he claimed the kiss he'd been after, rather roughly. "Now, behave," he scolded me when he released me, quite out of breath from his kiss. "'Tis my intent to sail calmer waters this night, but if ye insist on tormentin' me that way I'll not be responsible fer what happens."

I nodded to indicate I understood and embraced him gently, tucking my head contentedly under his chin and letting him hold me for a long quiet moment. I understood he was right and that he was probably exerting more control already than I had a right to expect.

When he released his hold on me it was to tip my chin up as was his charming habit, and I met him willingly as he kissed me again in a way that became progressively more intense as it went on. I was content to lose myself at that moment in the intimate embrace we were sharing, but it was Barbossa that reined things in once more as he broke away from the kiss, leaving us both out of breath.

"One last thing I have fer you," he said softly, holding me still and running his hands up and down my bare back.

"What is it?" I asked, my attention on where his fingers were.

"Come with me," he whispered, heading for the bedroom with me in tow, and he paused at the doorway to watch my reaction.

Like the sitting room, the bedroom was dark except for the flickering of a dozen or more candles spread across the room, but the thing that nearly brought me to tears again was the single rose of coral pink which he had laid upon the bed earlier. He smiled when he saw the tears in my eyes, understanding at that point what it meant, and he went and retrieved the rose and brought it back to offer it to me.

"This is perfect," I whispered to him. "Everything is perfect, Hector, but only because I'm here with you." I took the rose from him and pressed it to my lips, and then set it gently aside on the nightstand.

I could see the intensity he was watching me with by that point, and I knew I'd kept him waiting long enough. He smiled a bit when I suggested as much, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Aye, that be true," he said playfully, pulling off the riding boots he still wore and dropping them to the floor.

He lay down on his side, propped up on his elbow and patted the bed in front of him, frowning a bit when I held up one finger to indicate I needed one more minute. I think he would have protested my hesitation if it weren't for the fact that he saw me slide my dress off one shoulder slowly, slipping my arm out of the sleeve, and decided he'd best keep quiet.

The way he was watching me as I slid the other arm out of the dress was flattering, if not a little disconcerting, but I continued with my undressing, sliding the gown to my waist, and then past my hips, and at last I let it slip to the floor and stepped away from it.

"Ye'd be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Madeline," he said in a hoarse whisper as I approached the bed. I sat down on the edge, never breaking eye contact with him, and laid back on the bed next to him, reaching for him as I did so.

In an instant he had pulled me to him, his weight half over me, and he clung to me, whispering desperately in my ear. "Do ye know what thorns I've endured to have you?" he asked, his voice full of emotion.

"Yes," I said in his, even as I began tugging his shirt up.

He pulled away and tore it over his head in an instant, and reached for me again, pulling me against him once more. "May," he whispered, and then kissed my neck hungrily. "May, lass, tell me yer mine." He kissed my neck again. "_Tell me_."

I whispered in his ear, speaking words that I'd wanted to say to him for more years than I could remember. "I'm yours, Hector," I said with great emotion. "There's nothing I've ever wanted more, my love. I will always be yours."

He smiled at me for just a moment, and then pulled me into his arms and kissed me in a way that made me forget that I had ever been anything else.

~o~

**A/N:** This is the night referenced in _Romancing the Black Pearl_, in which the crew helps Barbossa plan the evening. Pop on over and read it if you haven't seen how pirates plan romance. ;)

As with their first evening together in _Memories of May_, I've written a companion piece for this chapter styled along the lines of _A Single Night in May_. It's called_ A Night of Rum and Roses_.

Oh, and Jack will be back quite soon. You know he can't stay out of the spotlight for long. :)


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** Many thanks, as usual, to FreedomOftheSeas for beta-reading for me again!

**Chapter Twenty-Five **

~o~

_In an instant he had pulled me to him, his weight half over me, and he clung to me, whispering desperately in my ear. "Do ye know what thorns I've endured to have you?" he asked, his voice full of emotion._

_"Yes," I said in his, even as I began tugging his shirt up._

_He pulled away and tore it over his head in an instant, and reached for me again, pulling me against him once more. "May," he whispered, and then kissed my neck hungrily. "May, lass, tell me yer mine." He kissed my neck again. "Tell me."_

_I whispered in his ear, speaking words that I'd wanted to say to him for more years than I could remember. "I'm yours, Hector," I said with great emotion. "There's nothing I've ever wanted more, my love. I will always be yours."_

_He smiled at me for just a moment, and then pulled me into his arms and kissed me in a way that made me forget that I had ever been anything else._

_~o`_

Having dozed off on my side facing Barbossa, it took a minute for me to register that something was pleasantly tickling the skin over my hip. When I opened my eyes at last, the candles had nearly all burned out, but the room was brighter than ever thanks to the moonlight that shown upon the bed through a large window in the room.

Barbossa likewise, lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, and it only took me a moment to discern that it was his fingers on my skin that had woken me from my nap. Watching where his fingers traveled, I could see he was contentedly stroking my side, letting his fingers travel into the hollow of my waist, over the swell of my hip, and then along my thigh. He then reversed the gesture, slowly running his hand up and down along my body.

I sighed contentedly, drawing his eyes to my face for an instant before they returned to monitor his caresses.

"What are you doing?" I asked sleepily, hoping he wouldn't stop.

He didn't, and his eyes flicked to mine again as the slightest smile crossed his face. "Moonlight," was all he said in return, but it was all the explanation I needed. My lover was currently enjoying the feel of my skin, pleased that it was his own flesh that caressed mine as the moon shone upon his hand.

"Are ye well, M'lady?" he asked as he continued.

"Not really," I said quietly.

"No?" His hand paused in place on my hip as he sounded concerned.

"There are a lot of other places that you're currently neglecting," I said, offering him a tiny pout.

"Ah, well we can't be havin' that," he said slyly, pushing my hip to roll me as he moved to pin me to the bed. "Any places in particular that needs tendin', lass?"

"I can think of a few," I whispered back.

"So can I," he said, nuzzling into my neck. "My apologies if they not be the same ones as ye had in mind."

I can report that fortunately they were.

~o~

The next morning, dragging myself from where I'd been curled up contentedly in Barbossa's arms and leaving the comfort of the luxurious bed we laid together in, may have been one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I contemplated doing so only at his insistence that we had to finally return to the ship, and while he climbed to his feet and began dressing, I rolled onto my stomach and hid my head under the pillow.

"What?" he asked in reply to the muffled statement I'd uttered from where I'd burrowed.

I raised the pillow off my head a little. "I said, 'I don't want to go back to the bloody _Black Pearl',_" I pouted.

Barbossa, having done his best the night prior to start making up for twelve years without contact with a woman's flesh, was in fine spirits, and he wasn't buying into my pessimistic whining. "Up ye go, lass," he said brightly, "there's piratin' as needs be done this day."

I would have continued to ignore him from under my pillow if it weren't for the resounding slap he administered to my exposed backside, and I was off the bed and on my feet in an instant, hand plastered over my smarting rump and glaring at him from where I stood sans clothing of any sort.

"That hurt!" I scolded him where he was looking fairly amused.

"I don't ever recall seein' yeh follow an order that sharply," he said, gazing meaningfully at his palm. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

"You're not funny," I said, still irritated.

"Oh, but I am, and ye'd be quite fetchin' when yer angry," he said, shrugging into the brown frockcoat from the day before. "Course ye are naked, so I'd be willin' to bet ye'd catch my eye even if you were spittin' nails."

I huffed at him in exasperation, and yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around myself, planning on heading for the door. Barbossa grabbed me by the arm as I stormed by, pulling me around to face him. He shook his head at me. "Yer already breakin' rule number one," he said, and he looked at me expectantly.

Of course I gave in and kissed him, and he gently tugged the sheet from my grasp and tossed it aside, wrapping me up in a passionate embrace as the kiss deepened. He continued to kiss me but shrugged back out of his frockcoat, dropping it on the floor, and as he backed me slowly towards the bed, it quickly became apparent that the _Black Pearl_ and her crew were going to have to wait another hour for their captain.

~o~

We both did manage, on our second attempt at rising, to freshen up and get dressed before heading off downstairs, but before we left our room, Barbossa retrieved the rose from the nightstand. After cutting back the stem with his dagger, he made it a point to come to where I'd just finished putting up my hair and tuck it in place at the back of my head as his eyes met mine in the mirror I'd been using. As we sat together over breakfast, I lamented the fact once more that we couldn't stay ashore longer and had to return to the ship.

The innkeeper was pleased to hear that everything had been arranged to Barbossa's specifications quite well, and that I had been completely surprised with our intimate evening. I have to admit that I must have blushed a little at knowing that the innkeeper understood what the purpose of the arrangements had been for.

He must have seen the color in my cheeks, and he spoke kindly to me. "More husbands should take the time to treat their lovely wives to a romantic evening, don't you think?"

I smiled at him, despite the fact I wasn't actually anyone's wife. "I'm sure you're right."

I found out from Barbossa, after the innkeeper had left us, that I needn't have worried about any other guests witnessing me running about in a revealing dress, since he'd paid double what all the rooms in the inn would have brought in for the evening and then some, in order for them to remain vacant and to have me all to himself.

"I thought it best to be far from any of the crew," Barbossa said wryly, taking a sip of coffee, and I laughed, knowing that our record of interruptions meddling with our romantic moments was not good.

"You're right," I said, smiling at him warmly. "If it's not a battle at sea, it's Turk."

"Or fire...or worse," he said quietly, but with a smile, and meaning things like the curse and the maelstrom.

I pouted. "No more 'worse', do you hear me?"

"Aye," he replied, "'twould be fine by me." He watched where I grew quiet for a few minutes and picked at my breakfast. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I said. "It's just...I'm still trying to keep up with all that's happened in the past two weeks."

"'Twill all be fine, lass," he replied cheerfully. "A woman has to be made of sturdy stuff to be in love with a pirate, and I know not of one made of sturdier stuff than you."

"You think so?" I asked, pleased by his vote of confidence.

"Always have," he replied softly, causing me to smile, "and that's not all."

I smiled, realizing by the gleam in his eyes that he was flirting with me. "What else have you always thought, Captain Barbossa?" I whispered, since we were supposed to be posing as Mr. and Mrs. Cezar da Silva.

"That ye'd look quite fine parted from yer dress," he whispered back.

I smiled shyly and bit my lower lip a little. "And were you right?"

"Aye, then and now," he replied, looking at me across the table like he was contemplating parting me from my dress again, "_minha flora encantadora_."

I smiled again as we stood. "You're in a fine mood today," I told him as we finally left the_ Last Port_ to head for the docks.

"Aye, lass, and why not?" he said, offering me his arm. "The sun be shinin', I have a beautiful woman by me side, who looks a bit tired by the way," he said, obviously pleased with himself for seeing to it that I'd gotten almost no sleep. "I've had fine food and drink, bedded the loveliest lass in the Caribbean, and all that while Jack Sparrow has been rottin' in the hold of me dear old _Pearl_."

"Ah, so now the truth comes out," I said, scolding him just a little. "What is it he has that you want, anyway? You have the _Black Pearl_."

Barbossa grew more serious for a moment. "Twice the rum soaked blighter has stolen a map from me –both Morgan's and the charts to World's End. 'Tis my intent to see to it that he gives them back, one way or another."

"One way or another?" I asked, not liking the look in his eyes.

"Aye," was all he said in reply as we came upon the docks, and found Turk waiting for us with a small group of pirates he'd rounded up to bring a longboat ashore for us.

"Mornin', Cap'n," he said brightly, and then leaned closer to speak softly to Barbossa. "Where the bloody hell yeh been, Barbossa? An hour we've been waitin' on yer sorry arse to show up."

"Well, be glad it wasn't two," he said wryly, ignoring the scolding from his bo'sun.

"Yer in a fine state this mornin'," Turk said, grinning broadly, as we situated ourselves and launched the boat. He shot me a knowing look and a wink that caused me to blush as he spoke again. "Lucky thing fer yer prisoner."

Barbossa smiled wickedly at him. "Aye, mayhap I'll be feelin' more merciful toward him this mornin'," he said, and then appeared to mull the thought over for a moment. "Or not," he added wryly, causing Turk to chuckle.

~o~

I still wasn't feeling any great affection for the _Black Pearl_ as I climbed back aboard and followed Barbossa to his cabin along with Turk.

"All the men have been accounted fer, and we're ready to sail on yer orders," Turk informed Barbossa.

"Good. Tell Gibbs to make way, and set a course West by Northwest," Barbossa replied.

"Instructions regardin' Sparrow?" Turk asked as he made to leave.

"Let 'im stew awhile yet," Barbossa replied, seemingly unconcerned.

By the end of the day he'd given the same reply to Turk's inquiry, and it dawned on me that Sparrow was probably being held in the dank brig without food or water. Barbossa merely shrugged, unconcerned when I asked if that were the case.

"What good does that do?" I asked, surprised at the irritation that had crept into my voice, probably from knowing what that experience was like.

"It makes me feel better," Barbossa said a bit sharply.

"Well, I can tell you from firsthand experience that it's not very humane," I said back with a meaningful look, reminding him that I'd gone more than twenty-four hours without food or water when he'd first kidnapped me.

Barbossa gave me a pointed look back. "We _are_ discussin' the man who put a bullet in me heart yeh realize?"

I chose to let the matter drop, and Barbossa changed the subject, trying to lighten the mood once more. "Now that it looks like yer aboard on a more permanent basis, might I ask a favor of ye?" he inquired pleasantly.

"I am _not_ cooking for the crew," I answered firmly, anticipating where the conversation might be going. Evidently Ragetti had accidentally let slip that I'd given him dinner and pie, and Pintel had made a stink while Barbossa was off the ship, getting the rest of the crew riled about missing out on home cooking while they suffered through what our current 'cook' was responsible for.

"Madeline," Barbossa started, but I cut him off.

"I will do whatever I have to in order to pull my weight while on board, and you know that I'll act as your surgeon," I replied, " but I am not going to..."

"Pull yer weight?" Barbossa asked, offended, but maybe in a manner that was a tad too contrived. "I'll not see yeh workin' like some common sailor on board me ship, lass. There ought to be some benefit to bein' the captain's lady, aye?"

"I don't want special treatment," I said firmly.

"Always bound an' determined to keep even with the men, are ye?" Barbossa asked, but his tone was affectionate if anything.

"I can in most things," I said a little defensively.

Barbossa stepped closer and ran his fingers across my cheek. "Aye, lass, and there be things ye do much better," he said, " but I'm afraid ye'll need to become accustomed to special treatment by yer captain."

"I don't want the crew to resent me," I said with a sigh. "It'll only make things harder for me to be on board where they already think I'm bad luck."

"Half the week, then," Barbossa cut me off, obviously going back to what he figured was the way to convince his crew not to harbor any ill will toward a woman on board.

"Hector, you are nothing if not persistent," I said with a laugh.

"Do this fer me?" he asked, tipping my chin up so that my gaze me his.

"You're trying to manipulate me," I accused him softly, as he leaned down to kiss my neck.

"Any way I can," he whispered, continuing what he'd started.

"Three nights," I whispered back, closing my eyes to enjoy what he was doing.

"Every other," he whispered back, still negotiating and still kissing my neck.

"Three," I gasped, as he continued but began to unlace the back of my dress.

"I could order ye to do it," he whispered.

"You could," I agreed.

"Would ye do it, if I ordered you?" he asked curiously, switching to the other side of my neck.

"I can follow orders," I replied just a tiny bit defensively.

"Can yeh, now?" he asked, somewhat amused. "If I recall, ye've not been quick to go below when I've ordered it."

"Try me," I said.

"Kiss me," he said.

"Is that an order?" I asked, trying not to giggle.

"Aye," he said, waiting.

"What sort of an order is that?" I teased.

"Apparently one yer not obeyin'," he scolded me. "Ye'll need to be followin' orders sharper than that if yer on my ship, Miss Gray."

"Sorry," I said playfully. "I'll try to do better. Give me another order."

I'd rather not repeat what the next order was that Barbossa whispered in my ear, but I will say that when he locked the cabin door and led me to his bed that I followed it sharply and to the letter.

~o~

The next morning, Barbossa was still in fine spirits, apparently pleased at the fact that he'd gotten me to agree to take galley duty every other night, as well as the fact that for the second night in a row, and our first aboard his precious _Black Pearl_, he'd managed to see to it that I hadn't gotten much sleep again.

I left him mulling over some sort of navigational chart in his cabin, and went on deck for a breath of fresh air, and immediately came across Turk.

"Good morning," I said pleasantly as I tried to cover up a yawn.

"Mornin', darlin'," Turk replied, failing at hiding the smirk that was appearing on his face. "How are yeh this fine day?"

"Lovely," I said tiredly, leaning on the rail to watch the waves stream past the ship, glad that apparently my seasickness was finally retreating, as I grew accustomed to being on a sailing ship again.

"Can I tell yeh somethin'?" Turk asked me, leaning on the rail next to me.

"Of course," I replied.

"Yeh look like arse," he said simply.

I frowned at him, not entirely pleased with his comment. "Thank you, Turk," I replied sarcastically.

He continued to smirk at me. "I'm jus' havin' fun with yeh," he said. "Yeh know I'm pleased as pie that yer with 'im, May. Yer exactly what he needs after all he's been through."

He looked out over the waves for a minute or two before speaking again. "Yer good fer 'im, Madeline. There are few people that understand jus' what those ten years took out of him," he said, glancing across the deck toward Pintel and Ragetti. "Someday I'll show yeh the letters he sent me, seein' as how yeh never got yers."

"I'd like to read them," I replied in earnest.

"They're not easy to read, especially as time goes on," Turk added quietly, while we stood together contemplating what Barbossa and his crew had gone through.

"Gah!" he said suddenly, pounding his fist against the rail. "Bloody friggin' peacock. Yeh'd think he'd 'ave let me help 'im."

I understood Turk's frustration of all those years. While there was nothing that either of us likely could have done to help undo the curse of the Aztec gold, it didn't stop either of us from wishing there was something we could have. I put my hand on Turk's arm affectionately. "You know you shouldn't feel guilty, he never would have let me help either, even had I known."

"Yer right, but still..." Turk sighed. "What done is done, and we'd best get on with livin' ay, darlin'?"

He gave me a sly smile. "Speakin' of gettin' on with livin'...yeh look like yeh need a little less _livin_' and a little more sleep."

I blushed furiously and looked out over the waves again to try to hide the flush of color rising in my cheeks.

Turk chuckled at my discomfort and put his arm around my shoulders affectionately. "'S all right, darlin'. I s'pose yeh still have twelve years to make up fer."

"Yes, well I hadn't planned on accounting for all of it in two nights," I said softly, eliciting another round of laughter from Turk.

At that moment Barbossa emerged from his cabin, having changed back to full pirate regalia, placing his beloved plumed hat on his head as he approached Turk and me.

Turk waited until he'd made it to where we were standing together before speaking, and I already knew, from dealing with the two pirates so much, years before, that he was going so say something about the infamous hat.

"I see yeh still have that friggin' thing," Turk said wryly.

"Of course," Barbossa replied, looking like he had clearly resigned himself to some sort of snide comment from his bo'sun.

"Huh," Turk went on, "looks as if the cat that swallowed the canary upchucked the whole thing on yer head."

Despite the insult to his hat, I could tell Barbossa was fighting not to smile. "Say what ye will," he said in return, "but May here, likes me hat, and that be good enough fer me."

Turk sniggered. "I've said it before, if I remember right, Barbossa. Judgin' by how worn out May looks, I'd say she likes more'n yer hat."

"Surely she hasn't been complainin'?" Barbossa asked, looking at where I was again red in the face.

"Jus' tellin' me that she wished an old dog like you could keep up with 'er," Turk said, stirring up trouble, obviously taking a swipe at Barbossa's prowess in bed and his ego. I must have looked horrified, as tired as I was, and I opened my mouth to refute what Turk had said, but Barbossa spoke first.

"What?" he asked, evidently distraught at the notion that he'd left me...well..._unfulfilled_ in some way, I guess would be the most delicate way to put it. Never one to take bruising of his ego lightly, he immediately took me by the arm. "Come with me, lass," he said, dragging me helplessly back toward the cabin.

I managed to shoot Turk a dirty look for getting me into the predicament I faced again, but he merely chuckled and waved me off, calling the words '_twelve years_' to me, and I swore I would find a way to get even with him.

~o~

**A/N:** Next chapter Captain Jack will be back!


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to Freedom for beta-ing for me! I hope you all enjoy Madeline's conversation with CJS!

~o~

**Chapter Twenty-Six **

~o~

_Turk sniggered. "I've said it before, if I remember right, Barbossa. Judgin' by how worn out May looks, I'd say she likes more'n yer hat."_

_"Surely she hasn't been complainin'?" Barbossa asked, looking at where I was again red in the face._

_"Jus' tellin' me that she wished an old dog like you could keep up with 'er," Turk said, stirring up trouble, obviously taking a swipe at Barbossa's prowess in bed and his ego. I must have looked horrified, as tired as I was, and I opened my mouth to refute what Turk had said, but Barbossa spoke first._

_"What?" he asked, evidently distraught at the notion that he'd left me...well...unfulfilled in some way, I guess would be the most delicate way to put it. Never one to take bruising of his ego lightly, he immediately took me by the arm. "Come with me, lass," he said, dragging me helplessly back toward the cabin._

_I managed to shoot Turk a dirty look for getting me into the predicament I faced again, but he merely chuckled and waved me off, calling the words 'twelve years' to me, and I swore I would find a way to get even with him._

_~o~_

Even on a ship the size of the _Black Pearl_, space is very limited, and Turk and I had essentially been sharing the small cabin where I kept my clothes and such; he slept there while I stayed with Barbossa, and I had use of the space during the day if I needed any time to myself, or privacy. Once I'd forgotten to lock the door when I'd been changing, and thinking me to be elsewhere, Turk had gotten an eyeful when he'd barged in on me inadvertently and I'd been bent over my trunk to retrieve a dress sans clothing.

Of course, Turk had to comment later, trying to have a bit of fun at my expense. "Sorry 'bout this mornin', darlin," he'd said, after he'd found me on deck, " but I have to say that Barbossa was right."

"About?" I asked, not really wanting to know.

"He said yeh had a mighty fine backside fer an old gal," Turk said with a smirk, thinking to pay me a compliment in an offhand way.

I'm sure he was confused when my expression became frosty. "He said that?" I asked.

"Aye," he said, looking puzzled as to why I would be upset at the compliment.

"He used the term 'old gal'?" I asked, obviously not pleased at all. At only thirty-eight, I was not in the least flattered by the term.

Turk nodded, and I turned on my heel and strode purposefully toward Barbossa's cabin.

"Oh shit," I heard Turk mutter behind me, knowing that Barbossa was about to get an earful thanks to him.

~o~

So, after I managed to survive Barbossa passionately bestowing his affections upon me once more, thanks to Turk, I managed to steal a nap in the cabin I have mentioned for a few hours.

Arising somewhat refreshed, I realized that it was the first night I would be responsible for galley duty, and I knew I'd better get started.

As a girl at home in Wiltshire on my father's small gentleman's farm, I'd been responsible for feeding him, my grandfather, both uncles, our farmhand, and often several guests, so cooking for a group of hungry men was not something completely foreign to me. However, cooking for nearly fifty pirates with hearty appetites was something on an entirely different scale, and I left myself plenty of time to get things started.

By the time I was dirty and sweaty and infused with the smell of all the onions I'd chopped for stew, I was cursing my paramour repeatedly for talking me into taking responsibility for half the cooking, especially as Hamlyn, the current cook, kept poking his head into the galley and telling me what to do, threatening me with unpleasantries if I messed up his kitchen.

I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to tell him the only reason his galley was tidy at all was because I had tidied it, and when he saw he wasn't going to get a reaction out of me, he finally stomped off.

I like to think that I am a fairly intelligent woman, but if I had truly had my wits about me that evening, I would have gone out of my way to prepare something that even Hamlyn wouldn't have eaten, and probably ensure that I'd never have to have galley duty again. Instead, fretting about the first impression my cooking would make on the crew, (although not as much as I fretted about my first dinner for Barbossa,) I managed to pull together large pots of savory stew that were quickly devoured by the men. I daresay my standing with the anti-woman faction improved a fair bit after that.

I'd just taken dirty plates back to the galley to be cleaned up, thankfully by someone else, and I nearly collided with Gibbs surreptitiously leaving the kitchen with a bowl of stew. I knew right away where he was probably taking it, even as the look of panic crossed his face.

"D...Doctor Gray," he stammered, knowing he'd been caught red-handed, "'tis a fine meal that yeh made, ma'am."

"You think so?" I asked, clearly not in a hurry to get out of his way.

"Aye, best the men've had in some time," he replied.

"Did the crew all like it?" I asked, amusing myself while he squirmed, probably thinking that I'd be likely to report him to Barbossa.

"Oh, aye. Every last one," he answered, apparently sincerely. "They're all stuffed to the gills."

"So, none of them would have room for that bowl, there?" I asked, indicating the food he was unable to hide.

"Likely not," he sighed, thinking himself in trouble.

"Huh. Well, perhaps you can find a way that it won't go to waste?" I asked pointedly. "I should hate to see anyone not be fed properly aboard this ship, seeing as I am the _Black Pearl's_ doctor and all," I said, smiling warmly at him.

Gibbs immediately took my meaning, and let out a sigh of relief. "Aye, I'll see to it that this doesn't go to waste," he said, grinning back as he understood I had no problem with him sneaking food to the brig.

"See that you do that," I said pleasantly, and I stepped aside and let him carry on.

~o~

Turk and Barbossa were caught up after dinner in a conversation about the _Black Pearl_, and finding it was not something I was particularly interested in, since I still carried no great love for her, I decided to leave them to themselves for a bit, and I headed out on deck for some fresh air after assuring Barbossa that I would be back a bit later. I'd determined that I might perhaps go and read in the cabin that Turk and I took turns in, but at the last minute, curiosity got the better of me, and knowing that the captain and his bo'sun would likely be occupied for some time yet, I headed below to the brig.

~o~

I knew that Barbossa was angry enough with Jack that he wouldn't do anything to make his stay any less unpleasant in the brig, and although I still had an issue with the fact that he was the man nearly responsible for taking Barbossa away from me forever, that still didn't mean that he should be treated inhumanely in my book.

I knew Gibbs had made it a point to smuggle a bit of food and water to his former captain, but I decided to venture down to the hold to see about tending to any of the injuries he'd received on shore.

Jack Sparrow was lying on his back in the middle of the floor, hands tucked behind his head, and one booted foot crossed casually over the other. He appeared to be sleeping, but I've been around too many pirates to fall for that, and I spoke, realizing that I was about to have a conversation with my third Pirate Lord.

"I wanted the chance to meet you properly," I said quietly, standing outside the occupied cell of the brig.

"And why would that be?" he asked lazily, from under where he had his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Why would I not want the chance to meet _Captain_ Jack Sparrow?" I asked.

He sat up, sliding the hat back in place, and regarded me carefully with deep, brown, kohl-lined eyes.

"You have a good point," he said smoothly, flashing me a disarming smile. "But if you're inclined to be meeting me, then that would involve me meeting you, and therefore I'd be needing the actual name of the lovely lady that was inclined to do the meeting, in order to have met her properly."

It took a bit of effort on my part not to smile at the pirate sitting on the floor in front of me, but I'd had a lot of practice ignoring charming comments from a rogue in the past, and I managed to keep a straight face.

"I'm Doctor Gray," I started, deciding to keep things on a more formal basis than our encounter in the tavern.

"Ah," Sparrow said, nodding to himself for a moment. He stood up gracefully without the use of his hands and leaned them on the bars between us. "So, _you're_ Madeline," he said, looking like he completely expected the look of shock on my face.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Barbossa," he replied simply, watching my reaction carefully.

"He's been down to speak with you?" I asked, unaware that such a conversation had taken place.

"Not at all," Sparrow replied evenly, examining his dirty fingernails. "Told me about you years ago."

I frowned, not understanding him for a moment. "What do you mean, he told you about me years ago?"

"Oh, he told me all about you, Madeline," Jack replied knowingly, starting to dangle a carrot I might be interested in. "Said some fine things about you too, as I recall."

"Like what?" I asked, curious.

"You might need to find a way to jog me memory," he said saucily.

He let go of the bars and leaned his shoulder casually up against them, folding his arms across his chest and turning up the charm even as he dropped his voice. "I'd be happy to offer you suggestions, love, if you've found yourself at a loss."

"Such as?" I asked, my tone doubtful and suspicious.

"Such as you sashaying over to where that key is, and bringing it back over here and re-acquainting it with the lock." He glanced meaningfully down at the door to his cell, and then looked back at me, both challenge and pleading in his demeanor at once.

"Captain Sparrow," I said in return, "what makes you think that I have any desire to let you escape? You obviously know who I am."

He pursed his lips in a thoughtful pout for a moment and then spoke again. "That's true, darling, I do know who you are." He turned and placed his hands on the bars again, leaning as close as they allowed, dropping his voice again to a softer character. "You may not have the desire to let me out, but what you _do_ have, is the _need_."

"I have the need to let you out?" I asked, puzzled by his statement, and irritated by his cocksure manner.

"I'm glad you see things my way. Let me out," he ordered happily, sweeping his arm at the door. His expression sank as he saw I was a very long way from convinced.

"Captain Sparrow," I began again. "I am quite content..."

"You can call me Jack," he interrupted, turning those deep brown eyes on me again, "as long as I can call you _May_." He smiled in a self -satisfied way when he saw the effect his words had in terms of flustering me.

"You can't help but want to ask, dearie," he said, seeing the way I must have frowned, and pressing himself against the bars.

"You can't help but want to tell me, is more like it," I said in return. "You know more than you're saying if you've called me by that name. There are only four pirates left alive that ever knew me as May."

"Of course, that's if you only count pirates that sailed on the _Rogue Wave_," he said, leaning away from the bars, and rummaging through my coin purse that he'd obviously just pilfered from my pocket without me having realized it. He smiled and tossed it back to me. "It doesn't count Pirate Lords and the Keeper of the Code, now does it?"

He was a step further ahead of me than I thought, and I decided to put an end to the game. I wasn't about to let him out, but I knew another way that I might be able to convince him to tell me what knew. I pulled a half full bottle of rum from where I'd been hiding it behind my back. "Perhaps this will do in place of opening that door?" I asked, dangling my own carrot.

He eyed the bottle longingly, thinking things over.

"Surely you realize why I can't let you out?" I asked, offering the bottle though the bars. "He'd have my head if I open this door."

He shot me a look of disappointment, and then sighed and took the bottle. "So, are you going to tell me you hate me for shooting your favorite pirate first, or do you want to know what he said about you?" Sparrow sat back down in his cell crossed legged, leaning back on his arm and taking a large gulp of rum.

I knew he was playing me, but to what end I didn't know precisely, and I decided to continue the game for the moment.

"I find it hard to believe that he said anything to you about me," I said firmly, folding my arms across my chest.

"And I find it hard to picture Hector Barbossa in love with anything but this ship, but well, _c'est la vie_," Sparrow said, spreading his hands wide, one still holding the bottle.

"Fine," I said a bit sharply, knowing that I couldn't stay down there all night. "I want to know what he said about me."

Sparrow smiled at me, but more kindly than he had up to that point. "Of course you do, love," he said softly. "I'd want to know if I were in your shoes, and had waited twelve years, and I was, in fact, a woman…who had been in love...with..." He gave a visible shudder and did his best to rid himself of the image he'd obviously created in his head.

I looked at him expectantly and he smiled a bit sheepishly. "Apologies.

"Well," Sparrow started again, "If you know I shot your captain, it must be because he's told you, or possibly you've spoken to either young William or Elizabeth...I'd wager Elizabeth...and you know that Barbossa, the mutinous blackguard, stole my ship and my crew nearly twelve years ago."

"Yes," I said, biting my tongue otherwise, as I wanted him to continue.

"It was after he lost the _Rogue Wave..._rather in spectacular fashion I might add. Shame there were so many crew on board when someone set off the powder stores..." He looked somewhat grim for a moment and then went on.

"Ran into him in St. Kitts...looking for a crew meself, and I knew enough of 'im from past dealings that he might prove useful on the venture I was undertaking. 'Course it was me that talked him into signing on as first mate...he didn't like the idea at first...has issues with control and being the center of attention, Hector does."

He broke off when he saw the look I gave him and returned to his story. "Anyway, Barbossa changed his mind after a bit, and we struck an accord and headed off to Tortuga to find a bigger crew...he'd help me find the Isla de Muerta and its treasure, and I'd help him acquire a ship for the return voyage."

Here he paused for a moment, frowning. "'Course, I didn't realize he meant acquiring _my_ ship for the return voyage.

"Anyway," he said, perking back up again, "I blame you for the mutiny, really." He paused and took another swig of rum.

"Me?" I asked incredulously. "How could the mutiny have been my fault? I hadn't seen Barbossa in several weeks by the time he took your ship."

"Well, you see, love," he continued, "I wouldn't have trusted Barbossa nearly as much as I did, if it weren't for the conversation we had our first night out..."

~o~

_The Black Pearl_ left Tortuga that day, bound for a destination unknown to any on board save her captain, and even he only knew the general heading. The compass had pointed east-southeast, and so that was the way they sailed.

The first day went smoothly, and Jack Sparrow found his new crew to be a rough but able group of pirates, and although they appeared to know their business very well, he resolved to keep a close eye on them. Evidently Barbossa, the new first mate, shared the same sentiment, and he said as much as though he were reading Jack's mind.

"'Tis a seasoned group of rogues we've put together, Jack," Barbossa said, coming into the cabin after knocking, "but a group that knows its mind well, and I'll wager is worth keepin' an eye on."

Sparrow glanced at Barbossa with a hint of concern in his expression from where he sat with his feet propped up on the table. "You think there'll be trouble?"

"Not likely," Barbossa replied, "but ye can never be too sure or too careful."

"I suppose not," Jack replied, turning the compass in his hands over and over absently.

"I plan on keepin' an eye on 'em meself," Barbossa continued. "'Tis worth gettin' to know the crew and their habits, I've found. Makes fer smoother sailin', which would be fine by me. I'd be preferrin' that our venture go along quickly."

Sparrow grinned a bit at the other pirate. "You in a hurry, Hector?"

Barbossa smiled back. "Jus' anxious to get me hands on a ship when this be through. I've planned to go to England after this."

Sparrow let his feet drop back to the floor and sat forward in his chair. "England?" he said, wrinkling his nose briefly. "Why England?"

Barbossa pulled out the chair across the table and sat down, heaving a great sigh before speaking again. "Jack," he said with an air of confidentiality, "this'll likely be me last trip. I'm retirin' after this fer good."

Sparrow's eyebrows shot skyward. "Retiring?" he asked, incredulously. "You can't be serious. Scallywag like you give up pirating?"

"Aye," Barbossa said in earnest.

Jack gave him a scrutinizing sideways look. "You even giving up your seat on the Brethren Court?"

Barbossa laughed a little. "Aye, Jack, all of it," he said.

Sparrow's manner became a little smug at that point. "Don't tell me you've lost your nerve, Barbossa."

Barbossa gave him a calculated grin. "Nay, that's not the case at all," he said pleasantly. "I've a better reason than that to quit while I be ahead."

"What in the name of Davy Jones would make you decide that..." Jack broke off as the answer to the question he was about to ask became obvious.

He sat forward in his chair. "It's a _woman_, isn't it?"

Barbossa waived at him dismissively, trying to avoid answering.

Sparrow broke into a wide grin. "No, that's it! You're leaving the Caribbean because of a woman."

Barbossa smiled and spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Ye've figured me out, Jack. I'll not deny it."

Scooting his chair closer in several small hops, Sparrow then leaned on his elbow on the table, staring pointedly at the man sitting across from him. "Tell me her name. Is she a pirate? Do I know her?"

Barbossa smiled patiently. "Jack, you act as if ye expect me to gossip like a schoolmaid."

"Not at all," Sparrow said, not giving up, "but I have to admit that I'm curious about the woman that would cause one of the most notorious and feared rogues in the Caribbean to give it all up."

"Why thankee, Jack," Barbossa said graciously. "I'll take that as a compliment, comin' from the likes of you."

"So, what's her name?" Sparrow insisted.

"Well, if ye must know..." Barbossa began, appearing a tiny bit reluctant.

"I must," Sparrow said, with a sly grin.

"'Tis _Madeline_," Barbossa finally admitted.

Jack sat back in his chair again with a triumphant grin. "Madeline," he said, trying the name out. "Hector and Madeline," he said, smirking at the way Barbossa rolled his eyes at the comment. He then looked expectantly at Barbossa again. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Barbossa asked, frowning.

"What's she like?" Sparrow asked insistently, apparently enjoying his interrogation of Barbossa. "Is she pretty? Smart? Bit nearsighted, maybe?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes again. "Joke all you want, Jack," he said earnestly. "I'm a lucky man to have found a woman as fine as her that'd put up with the likes of me."

Sparrow's eyes went wide for a moment, and then he became more serious. "You've really got it bad, mate." He paused for a moment and then spoke again. "In all seriousness, what's she like, Hector?"

"Ah, Jack," Barbossa said with a distant look, "even ye'd not blame me fer bein' smitten, if you'd met her. She's a lovely thing to look upon –hair the color of spun gold, and eyes like the Caribbean...but she's more'n that. She be smart and educated –the finest surgeon I've seen."

Sparrow's eyebrow's shot up again. "She's a _doctor_?" he asked incredulously.

"Aye," Barbossa said with a nod, "an' a right sharp one too. Happens to be a damn fine shot with a rifle as well."

Jack laughed in doubtful way. "Where'd you ever meet a lady doctor that might give a scoundrel such as yourself the time of day?"

Barbossa shrugged. "I kidnapped her."

Sparrow laughed out loud. "Would that be before or after you'd been smitten?"

"Before, Jack," Barbossa clarified. "It just happened to be how we met."

Jack smirked again. "And now you plan on retiring and taking your bonny lass to England to settle down?"

"Aye," Barbossa said. "It's not like I'd last long if we settled in the Caribbean. The gallows'd make her a widow 'fore long if I stay here."

"A widow, huh?" Sparrow asked, now sitting forward in his chair again and considering Barbossa with a narrowed gaze for a moment. "That would imply that you plan on marrying said fair doctor."

Barbossa shrugged again. "I'd be a fool not to ask her, Jack. I'm fairly certain she'll have me, and I'd be of a mind to finish this voyage and return to ask her before she can change her mind about wantin' an old seadog like me."

"Well then, Hector," Sparrow said, pushing his chair back and standing up, "let's see what we can do about finding this island and then getting you a ship as soon as possible, so that you can join your lovely doctor, ay?"

"Precisely what I had in mind, Jack," Barbossa replied quietly.

~o~

Next chapter Jack finishes telling the tale of the infamous mutiny!


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** I'd venture to say that the pirate song I wrote for this chapter is not one that you'd find in a Disney movie. ;) This chapter is one of my favorites between the mutiny, the song, and the argument between Jack, Barbossa and May at the end.

~o~

**Chapter Twenty-Seven **

~o~

_Jack smirked again. "And now you plan on retiring and taking your bonny lass to England to settle down?"_

_"Aye," Barbossa said. "It's not like I'd last long if we settled in the Caribbean. The gallows'd make her a widow 'fore long if I stay here."_

_"A widow, huh?" Sparrow asked, now sitting forward in his chair again and considering Barbossa with a narrowed gaze for a moment. "That would imply that you plan on marrying said fair doctor."_

_Barbossa shrugged again. "I'd be a fool not to ask her, Jack. I'm fairly certain she'll have me, and I'd be of a mind to finish this voyage and return to ask her before she can change her mind about wantin' an old seadog like me."_

_"Well then, Hector," Sparrow said, pushing his chair back and standing up, "let's see what we can do about finding this island and then getting you a ship as soon as possible, so that you can join your lovely doctor, ay?"_

_"Precisely what I had in mind, Jack," Barbossa replied quietly._

_~o~_

I stood outside the cell, listening to the story Jack Sparrow had been telling of the mutiny aboard the _Black Pearl_, and he paused in the telling to take another swig of rum and then to comment to me.

"So, now you see why I made the mistake of trusting Barbossa," he said sourly. "I'd like to think that I would've known if he was making the whole thing up, but he was so plainly enamored of you when he spoke," he said, looking me over appraisingly, "that I believed everything else he told me along with how he planned to make you 'is wife."

I'm sure that he could see the turmoil within me by the look on my face.

"You didn't know that, did you?" he asked softly, seeming as if he were sympathetic at the moment.

I shook my head, biting my lip firmly to keep from shedding any tears in front of Sparrow. "Did he really say those things about me?" I asked in a choked voice, "or are you fabricating this story?"

Sparrow looked me in the eye and spoke again, apparently in earnest. "It's all true, love, every word. What good would it do me making that up?"

Part of me wanted to believe him, and part of me wished I'd never heard what Barbossa had said - it made waiting twelve years more bitter and sweeter all at the same time. "What happened next?" I asked.

"Well," he said from where he had lain down on his side on the floor, propping himself up on one elbow, "that would be the second mistake I made –deciding that we needed to have a bit of a celebration on the ship...a send off for the voyage and for Barbossa, as it were..."

~o~

The crew readily embraced the idea of a celebration, and it was only a short time before the grog was flowing, and the mood was lively, and the camaraderie seemed to be growing among the men.

As the evening progressed, stories were traded by some of the pirates about their adventures at sea, and eventually someone began a rowdy drinking song.

When the last chorus had finished, Captain Sparrow stood up, a little unsteadily after the amount of rum he'd had, and wove his way to the center of the crew.

"Gentlemen, I have an announcement!" he said, throwing a hand in the air. "While tonight we drink to a successful voyage, we should also toast our esteemed first mate, the illustrious Hector Barbossa, who, upon returning from this profitable venture, will be taking himself a bride!"

Barbossa looked as if he were contemplating shooting Sparrow, and might have done so if the entire crew wasn't on deck at the moment, drunkenly cheering.

"What's her name?" someone called out from amongst the crew.

"Aye, her name!"

"Wot be the poor wench's name, Barbossa?"

Barbossa finally allowed himself a wry smile, even as Sparrow answered the crew.

"Madeline," he called out to the men. "So, let us raise our glasses in a toast to the unfortunate lass," he said in jest. "To Madeline!"

"Aye, to Madeline!" the crew replied drunkenly in unison.

Not finished harassing his first mate by a long shot, Sparrow addressed the crew once again. "Perhaps we should hear from the man, himself," he said, gesturing gallantly at where Barbossa stood to one side with his arms folded. "A speech perhaps, or maybe a song?"

"Aye!" the inebriated crew shouted.

"A song from the first mate!"

Barbossa held up his hands in a gesture of mild protest. "Nay lads, 'twould not be right of me to subject ye to me singin'," he said with a grin, refolding his arms across his chest.

"The crew wants a song, Barbossa," Sparrow said insistently with a mischievous smile, taking another swig of rum.

"Alright," Barbossa said, unfolding his arms and stepping forward, "If ye insist," he said with a slight bow of his head.

"There be a lit'le song that Cap'n Teague taught me years ago," Barbossa said to Sparrow with a smirk.

"Aye, I know the one," Sparrow replied with a matching grin.

Barbossa raised his cup to Sparrow. "Might ye do the honors, Cap'n Sparrow?"

With that Sparrow stepped forward with a flourish, and began to sing a chorus.

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

Barbossa then launched into the first verse of the song, serenading the crew to their great amusement.

_Me mother's a wench_

_Me father's a sailor_

_A fearless son of the sea_

_But the life he chose_

_Is not for those_

_Sons of bitches like me!_

When he broke into the chorus, Sparrow joined him in it again, as did a few of the crew, before Barbossa sang the second verse.

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Me arms are strong_

_I'll haul the ropes _

_And put the wind in her sail_

_All day I work_

_All night I drink_

_A hundred pints of ale!_

Once again the chorus came around, now being sung by Sparrow, Barbossa and the entire crew, before Barbossa sang the next verse.

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Me eyes are sharp_

_I'll spot the prize_

_And set the canvas forth_

_But clear the deck _

_And make some room_

_When me compass be pointin' north!_

The crew broke into rowdy laughter at Barbossa's addition as the chorus came around again.

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

Barbossa contributed the next few lines, smirking even as he got to them.

_There's a price on me head_

_The gov'nor said_

_He'd blow me out of the water_

_He's steamin' mad _

_'Cause I've already been blown_

_By the Gov'nor's daughter!_

The crew roared with their drunken approval of the verse, and then sang the chorus loudly into the night.

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

Barbossa continued the song as he sang out the next stanza.

_Now hide yer wife_

_And lock up yer children_

_I go by the Brethren's rules_

_I'll take all your money_

_And steal all your gold_

_'Cause no one's got bigger jewels!_

The crew again let out a tremendous cheer and launched into the chorus.

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

_Yo ho, home again_

_Home again we go_

Barbossa sang the final verse.

_Weigh the anchor_

_And hoist the colors_

_Set a course for open sea_

_The ship's me home _

_Wherever I roam_

_It's a Pirate's life for me!_

The crew launched into one last round of the chorus, and then hooted and shouted their rowdy and enthusiastic approval of the song by Barbossa.

~o~

Sparrow departed from the story he was telling in the brig once more. "You'd think lyrics of such an augural nature would have given me pause to speculate on Barbossa's motives," he said, staring blankly at a spot somewhere in front of him as he still lay propped up on the floor.

He turned his dark eyes up to meet mine. "I never should have given the scurvy blighter center stage, Madeline," he said with a crooked grin. "That was all it took for him to get the crew's attention, and it was to be rough sailing ahead after that."

I had to admit to being amused by the story despite the fact that I still held a grudge of sizeable nature against Sparrow. "He does rather like to be the center of attention," I said.

Sparrow nodded in agreement with me and then picked up the story where he'd left off.

~o~

The second day of the voyage would be the day that Sparrow began to lose control of the crew, although he wouldn't know it for another twenty-four hours.

Barbossa had commented mid-day that he'd gotten wind of the fact that a few of the men were expressing their concerns about not knowing exactly what it was that they were getting themselves into.

"'Tis not unusual, as I'm sure ye know," Barbossa said, appearing unconcerned at the moment, "that it takes a while fer a new crew to trust the captain. The crew'll more'n likely settle in nicely after a week or so."

"You're probably right," Sparrow said, gazing at the compass he held in one hand, and adjusting the wheel to starboard by a few degrees.

"All the same, Jack," Barbossa continued, "I'd not mind havin' a word with one or two, just to put me own mind at ease. I'd like to avoid any difficulties, fer obvious reasons," he said with a disarming smile.

"I'll have a word with the crew if you suspect discontent," Sparrow said, snapping the compass shut and hanging it at his belt.

"Nay, I wouldn't say it be so much as that, Jack," Barbossa said smoothly in reply. "Ye be right busy with getting us there sharply. I'll handle matters."

"You'll tell me if you think things might get out of hand, Hector?" Sparrow said, returning to his navigation.

"Aye, Jack," Barbossa said, turning on his heel, "I promise ye'll be the first to know if they do."

~o~

By this point in the story, Sparrow had rolled onto his back in the center of the floor of his cell with his thumbs tucked into his belt, and was staring up at the ceiling as he spoke.

"The perfidious rotter went and had a word with me crew, alright," Sparrow said with a sneer. "Riled them up behind my back, he did, telling them that I was planning on withholding information and probably treasure."

He rolled his head to face me. "Told the crew that his primary concern was getting through the voyage safely, and that he thought I was a bit reckless for his comfort," he said, with a bit less enthusiasm at this part of his story.

"By the third day he'd convinced the majority of them that I wasn't looking out for their best interests, and that if they'd put their trust in him, he'd give up the majority of his share of the plunder to ensure that they knew he was concerned with the welfare of the ship and fair treatment of the crew, and had no designs on selfish gains."

He lifted his head a little and pounded it lightly against the wooden floor once or twice, evidently irritated with himself still for missing what had happened on his ship under his nose.

"Played both sides of the coin right up to the end, convincing me the crew had been pacified by him, and convincing the crew his primary concern was only ever returning safely to you," Sparrow said, shooting me a slightly injured look. "Just enough of the truth for each side to believe the traitorous snake."

"So, what ended up happening?" I asked, from where I was now leaning wearily against the bars of his cell.

"Well, I'll tell you, Maddie_,_" he said, earning himself a dirty look from me. "By that third night he'd done me in good..."

~o~

Sparrow once again stood at the wheel scrutinizing the heading indicated by the odd little compass, when Barbossa came to stand nearby and cleared his throat.

"Ah, Hector! What can I do for you this fine evening?" he asked.

"I have a situation that needs be brought to yer attention, Jack," Barbossa said softly.

Sparrow's upper lip twitched involuntarily. "A situation? What sort of situation?"

"Well, 'twas somethin' I thought I could handle meself, but it turns out I'll be needin' yer assistance after all," Barbossa replied solemnly. "It would seem the crew are in a state about not knowin' where we be headed, and they've been on a lot about you gettin' more'n your fair share of the gold."

Sparrow opened his mouth to say something, but Barbossa continued on. "I've already told the crew, if ye pardon me impertinence, that things be share and share alike aboard this fine ship, Jack."

Jack looked uneasily at the gathering numbers of crew on the deck behind Barbossa. "Well, of course," he said, frowning.

"The crew has asked me to ask one thing from ye that'll put their mind at ease about the matter," Barbossa said, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the men behind him.

Sparrow narrowed his kohl-lined eyes. "What would that be?"

"They fear bein' lost at sea, and they want to know precisely where the island be that we're a-goin' to," Barbossa replied, watching Sparrow carefully.

Sparrow perked up. "That's it? Just the heading so they don't think we're lost?" he asked, a bit of incredulous relief in his voice.

"Aye," Barbossa said with a wry grin, "that be the only thing we need from you, Jack."

"Easy enough," Sparrow said. "Two, maybe two and a half days, this exact course," he said, holding out the compass and showing Barbossa where the needle now pointed.

"South–southeast," Barbossa said with a single nod.

"_Precisely_ south-southeast," Jack added helpfully.

"Ah, well thankee, Jack," Barbossa said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He smoothly drew his pistol and pointed it at Sparrow from only a foot or two away, still smiling. "Did I mention that be the only thing we need from you?"

Sparrow looked uneasily at the muzzle of the pistol before his eyes and swallowed hard, and then his eyes traveled across the deck, now noticing that every one of the men standing there was armed in some fashion.

His jaw dropped open a little, incredulously, and then his lip twitched into a sneer and he dropped his voice angrily. "You lying, pestilent sack of..."

"Jack," Barbossa said affably, holding his hand out for Sparrow to hand over his pistol, which he tossed to the closest pirate, "I've yet to speak an untrue word to ye. 'Tis not my fault if you misinterpreted anything I've said."

~o~

Sparrow sat up abruptly to look at me from his cell. "Do you know that man threw me off my own ship twice?"

"Evidently he didn't feel it was really your ship," I said with a trace of sarcasm.

"Well," Sparrow said, climbing back to his feet and sauntering slowly toward me, "that would be another story altogether, and one neither of us likely has time for, unless of course, you get around to opening this door."

"I already told you," I said firmly again, "I have no desire to see you freed."

He stared down into my eyes from a foot away, wearing a subtle smile that made me feel he was reading my mind. "And I've already told you, darling, it's not that you have the desire, but the need."

"Well, go on," I said in reply. "Tell me why it is I have the need to let you out. You obviously want me to ask."

Jack gave me his most charming smile of the evening. "To give Barbossa what he wants most."

"What he wants most?" I asked, waiting for further explanation from the pirate.

He smirked. "Well, besides you...or has he already had that, Gwen?"

"That is none of your business, Mr. Sparrow," I said, not planning on sharing any details of my personal life, but probably flushed enough to give him the answer to his question.

His smirk faded. "Captain," he insisted, "it's _Captain_ Sparrow."

It was my turn to smirk ever so slightly. "Not at the moment, I'm afraid."

He shrugged off my comment. "Well, Maddie, do us a favor and tell your dear captain that I'm finally in the mood to negotiate."

"Or ye could tell 'im yerself," Barbossa said from over my shoulder, where he was standing with Turk.

"Ah, Hector! Maddie and I were just talking about you," Jack said pleasantly. "Lovely girl you have here...shame she has a penchant for scurvy mutinous blighters."

Barbossa shot me a questioning glance, clearly wanting to know what I'd been doing talking to Jack in the brig, and I shrugged a bit sheepishly and said nothing.

"So," Barbossa began, coming to stand next to me in front of Jack's cell, "the little caged bird is ready to sing, is he?"

"For the right price," Jack replied smoothly, flashing a golden smile.

Barbossa appeared to think things over for a moment. "What is it yeh want, Jack?"

"A split...fifty-fifty on everything," he answered with no hesitation.

"Huh." Barbossa snorted derisively. "I hardly think yer in a position to ask fer a split down the middle."

"Oh, but I think I am," Jack replied smoothly, meeting Barbossa's gaze steadily.

"Oh, but I think yer not," Barbossa replied, actually smiling a bit. "Yeh see, Jack, we both know that I want the maps back and that I'm willin' to negotiate to a degree to get them, but we'll be doin' things my way or it's no deal."

Jack opened his mouth to reply but Barbossa cut him off again.

"If we strike a deal, we both stand to gain from it," he went on, "but if we don't...well, you'll be dead, and I'll be no worse off than I am at the moment." Barbossa gestured at the hold around him, clearly meaning to convey to Jack that he already had the _Black Pearl_, and then he slipped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, meaning to illustrate that he had access to something else Jack didn't have at the moment.

I didn't resist his embrace, but I wasn't entirely sure I liked being put in the same category as the _Black Pearl_, or being made to feel as if I were some sort of prize.

Jack appeared to consider his position carefully for a moment before speaking again. "Alright, sixty-forty, then," he offered.

Barbossa feigned disinterest at Jack's new offer and toyed with my hair a bit to continue to illustrate his point.

Jack's expression fell a little. "Seventy-thirty?"

"How about you hand over the maps, and I let yeh live?" Barbossa replied.

"Well, that's not bloody fair at all," Jack said unhappily.

"I reckon the lettin' you live part is optional," Barbossa drawled.

"You know, Barbossa," Jack said suddenly, clearly not defeated yet, "the last time you got greedy in your negotiations, it ended up rather badly for you."

I winced as Barbossa reflexively clench his fingers on the handful of my hair that he'd been toying with. "That would be because ye blatantly disregarded the accord we reached," he snarled.

Jack shrugged.

"You lied, Jack," Barbossa spat. "Yer not even capable of upholdin' a gentlemen's agreement."

"I assume you use that term quite loosely if you're referring to the bargain I struck with _you_," Jack replied, causing Barbossa to scowl.

"You cheated, Jack!" Barbossa snarled.

Jack became more irritated as well. "Oh, like you didn't have some bloody loophole already in mind by the time we shook hands."

"Yeh broke a solemn agreement between Pirate Lords," Barbossa retorted.

"I had no choice," Jack said, waving Barbossa off dismissively.

"What do ye mean, no choice?" Barbossa demanded.

"You were going to kill the whelp," Jack said.

"Of course I was!" Barbossa replied.

"You really were?" I asked, having held onto my doubts ever since Elizabeth had told me the story of the events in the cave years before.

Barbossa glanced at me. "We'll speak of this later," he said, and then he turned his attention back to Jack. "You can't be trusted, Jack. We do things my way or not at all." Barbossa let go of me and folded his arms firmly across his chest.

"Oh, like you can be trusted any more than I can!" Jack snarled back, grabbing a bar in each hand.

"I certainly can!" Barbossa said back.

"Can not!" Jack spat.

Barbossa unfolded his arms and stepped up to the bars. "Can so!" he snarled in Jack's face.

"Can not!" Jack snapped back. "You're a mutinous, backstabbing old flounder!"

"I can so, and you're a poor excuse fer a pirate, e'er there was one!" Barbossa growled back. "How many times yeh been marooned now, Jack?"

Jack frowned heavily. "Four," he replied with a pout, shooting Turk a dirty look when he sniggered in the corner.

"Ha!" Barbossa sneered triumphantly. "And once was yer dear old pa! Teague got nearly as fed up with yeh as I did!"

Jack continued to pout. "He came back for me...three days later," he said sullenly.

"Of course," Jack continued, "I still owe you for one."

"Oh, really?" Barbossa asked dangerously. "Pullin' yer sorry arse out of the locker counts fer naught, then, aye?"

"You pulled my arse, sorry or otherwise, out simply to further your own agenda," Jack replied.

"Like Calypso gave me a choice," Barbossa snarled, "but either way I figure you owe me fer the fact that yer standin' here."

"What, in the brig of my own ship?" Jack demanded.

I glanced at Turk, who was shaking his head, knowing as I did, that the conversation was about to deteriorate once more.

"Turk!" Barbossa sudden said. "Whose ship be this?"

Turk sighed heavily. "Yers, Cap'n," he said in reply automatically.

"Well, at least he's better trained than your damn monkey. Almost as ugly though," Jack commented, earning himself a glare from Turk.

At that point I foolishly decided to intervene. "Gentlemen," I began pleasantly, "perhaps we could put aside your personal differences for the moment. Clearly the ship is under Hector's command at the moment..."

"Her too," Jack interrupted snidely, "but at least she's cuter."

I bit my tongue and tried to continue. "I'm sure that we can all come to some sort of..."

"Letting a woman run things now, are you, Hector?" Jack interjected, interrupting me once more.

"Of course not!" Barbossa snapped. "I..."

I glared at Barbossa. "You said that as if there would be something wrong with a woman running things," I said icily.

"Madeline, it be nothin' personal, but women do not command pirate ships," Barbossa explained.

Jack smirked. "Keep that up, mate, and by the look on 'er face it'll be another ten years before you get yourself any..."

Jack was interrupted by the abrupt sound of steel on steel and he glanced down uncomfortably at where Barbossa's sword was pointed.

"Keep _that_ up, matey," Barbossa said, "and ye'll not have to worry about gettin' any again. Ever."

"Point taken," Jack replied in a croak, looking a bit relieved when Barbossa sheathed his sword.

Still irritated at Barbossa's sexist comment, I spoke up again. "I suppose you think that women don't become doctors either?"

Barbossa glanced at me. "That's different," he replied, about to speak to Jack again. By the look on Turk's face, even he knew the situation was deteriorating.

"I see," I said softly. "Well, I suppose you're right and it _is _different. I mean, to be a doctor you have to be dedicated and hard working and smart. To be a pirate, evidently you just need to be an arrogant bully and a two-bit thief." I picked up my skirt in one hand, and without so much as a sideways glance at Barbossa, I marched out of the brig.

"Don't know about ten years," I heard Turk say as I reached the stairs, "but I'd say the odds are good that yeh ain't gettin' anythin' tonight."

Jack sniggered even as Barbossa snarled at him. "This be all yer fault!" he growled, and I heard him storm out of the brig and up the stairs not far behind me.

~o~


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** This is the point in the story that the events in _Romancing the Black Pearl_ would fit, for those of you who have read it. For those of you who haven't, you should. :D

Chapter 5 of _The World Loves a Spice of Wickedness_ is now up, and chapter 6 is not far behind.

--

**Chapter Twenty-Eight ~*~**

**--**

_"Madeline, it be nothin' personal, but women do not command pirate ships," Barbossa explained._

_Jack smirked. "Keep that up, mate, and by the look on 'er face it'll be another ten years before you get yourself any..."_

_Jack was interrupted by the abrupt sound of steel on steel and he glanced down uncomfortably at where Barbossa's sword was pointed._

_"Keep that up, matey," Barbossa said, "and ye'll not have to worry about gettin' any again. Ever."_

_"Point taken," Jack replied in a croak, looking a bit relieved when Barbossa sheathed his sword._

_Still irritated at Barbossa's sexist comment, I spoke up again. "I suppose you think that women don't become doctors either?"_

_Barbossa glanced at me. "That's different," he replied, about to speak to Jack again. By the look on Turk's face, even he knew the situation was deteriorating._

_"I see," I said softly. "Well, I suppose you're right and it is different. I mean, to be a doctor you have to be dedicated and hard working and smart. To be a pirate, evidently you just need to be an arrogant bully and a two-bit thief." I picked up my skirt in one hand, and without so much as a sideways glance at Barbossa, I marched out of the brig._

_"Don't know about ten years," I heard Turk say as I reached the stairs, "but I'd say the odds are good that yeh ain't gettin' anythin' tonight."_

_Jack sniggered even as Barbossa snarled at him. "This be all yer fault!" he growled, and I heard him storm out of the brig and up the stairs not far behind me._

_--_

Irritated with both pirate captains, I headed for the small cabin I had been intermittently making use of. I slammed the door behind me and stood in the center of the tiny space next to my bed, hands on my hips and breathing rapidly in anger.

I found it frustrating, as I always did, that the men around me somehow still considered women less capable than themselves, and I was even more frustrated that Barbossa seemed to feel the same way.

I'd been too preoccupied to think to lock the door, and I realized that fact too late as I heard it open and shut behind me.

"Madeline," Barbossa said, coming to stand near me.

I turned to face him. "I'm not speaking to you at the moment," I said, and I turned my back on him only to have him grab me by the arm and spin me back to face him.

"Stop it," he said, trying to pull me closer as I resisted. "Yer bein' childish."

"You really don't think I'm as capable as a man, do you?" I asked accusingly.

"Of course I do," he said smoothly, trying to pull me nearer still.

"You're just saying that," I accused him again.

Barbossa sighed. "May, ye'd be better able to captain a pirate ship than I'd be able to be a doctor."

My demeanor softened a bit at his apparent sincerity. "Do you really mean that?"

"Aye, lass," he said, "but I think we each be most suited to our own stations." He offered me a small roguish smile.

"I suppose you're right," I said, letting him pull me against him as I gave up the argument. "Your suturing is terrible," I said softly, from where I'd tucked my head under his chin.

"Is it?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, teasing him. "Have you _seen_ the scar on my leg?"

"Not any time recently," he said softly, tipping my chin up and drawing me into a deep kiss.

"Well," I said, breathless when he pulled back, "perhaps you should examine it so that you can improve your technique next time."

"Perhaps I should," he replied, clearly understanding what I was implying. "'Twould be easier if ye weren't wearin' this." He tugged meaningfully on my sleeve.

"That's true," I said, smiling as he kissed me again and began unlacing the back of my dress.

It was unfortunate that neither of us thought to lock the door, with as preoccupied as we quickly became, and fifteen minutes later it became apparent to Turk, as he inadvertently barged in on where Barbossa and I were passionately engaged on the bed, that he was mistaken about his supposition that I was going to stay mad and deny him anything.

"I see I was wrong," he said, standing in the open doorway with a broad grin on his face as I screamed and wished I were anyplace else.

Barbossa merely chuckled as Turk shut the door, locking it for us on his way out, and then resumed kissing me, quickly making me forget about anything but his kisses and caresses.

--

The next morning I had ventured out on deck and spent a bit of time in the company of Turk, Gibbs, Pintel and Ragetti. They hadn't wasted any time in sharing with me the story of how they'd had to help Barbossa plan a romantic evening for us together in Port Calais, and I had all I could do to stop laughing at the tale my four companions had been telling me about their efforts on my behalf.

"Well," I said, finally composing myself, "I thank you all for seeing to all those details. I certainly had a night to remember with all those candles and flowers."

"I'll bet," Turk said slyly, making me blush once more.

"It weren't nofin'," Ragetti said pleasantly.

Pintel looked like he was about to make some sort of inappropriate comment, one I am sure would have been suggestive in less than a subtle way, but at that moment Francisco Rabara approached where we were standing.

"Buenas dias," he said pleasantly. "Good morning. May I have a word with the doctor?"

I nodded and excused myself as Turk shooed Pintel and Ragetti back off to work, and Gibbs left to go below, most likely to sneak Jack breakfast where he remained in the brig.

"What is it I can do for you, Mr. Rab…"

"_Cisco_," he reminded me with a smile.

"Cisco," I continued, with one of my own, "is there something wrong?"

"Sí…yes, one of my men has been having some difficulty," he started, seeming a bit reluctant to tell me.

"And he'd rather not mention it to a woman doctor, I'd surmise." I'd heard that tone of voice too many times over the years to not recognize what he was trying to tell me.

"Sí. He is reluctant to say anything, but he is in agony a good deal of the time," Rabara continued.

I took on the most neutral professional demeanor I could manage. "And this would involve some sort of _personal_ issue?" I asked, trying to be delicate.

Rabara nodded.

"Well, then I should see him immediately," I said. "Please have him meet me in my cabin at once."

Rabara nodded once in acknowledgment, and went to fetch Sanchez, the member of his crew who was apparently having the issue.

Ten minutes later, Rabara and another of his crew could be heard struggling with Sanchez outside my door and arguing loudly in Spanish. While I know only a handful of words, it was still readily apparent that Sanchez was willing to put up with a fair amount of discomfort, rather than subject his personal problems to be scrutinized by a woman.

At last the door opened, and Rabara escorted a defeated Sanchez in. "Here he is," Rabara announced cheerfully, still out of breath from the struggle outside the door. "Carranzo and I will be right outside if you need anything." He shut the door, clearly meaning that he and Carranzo were going to be there to thwart any escape attempt on Sanchez's part.

"So, Señor Sanchez," I began pleasantly, "your captain tells me that you've been having some difficulty?"

Sanchez said nothing but nodded once, very subtly.

"Alright, I'm going to ask you a few questions…is that alright?" I asked, seeing how uncomfortable he was.

Another single nod was my response.

"This issue is with things…below decks?" I asked, still trying to be delicate.

Sanchez looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else than discussing his most personal problem with me. The nod he gave me was barely detectable.

"And how long would you say?" I asked pleasantly.

"Many months," he finally said, very quietly.

"Is there pain?" I asked, causing him to look like he wanted to vomit.

"Sí."

"Has it been getting worse over time?" I asked.

"Sí."

"Is it there all the time, or just when you urinate?" I asked, trying to get a complete clinical picture.

"_Cómo_?" he asked, not understanding completely, and I found I was at a loss as to how to best convey what it was I was asking him.

I fetched Rabara and repeated the question, and looking fairly uncomfortable himself, he translated for Sanchez, who blanched at what I'd been asking.

I looked at him expectantly and finally he answered. "Both…on and off…much of the time."

"I see," I said, thinking things over. "Hmm…"

"Do you experience any trouble achieving an er… erm…hoisting your topsail?" I asked, trying to make the question as innocuous as possible while ticking off which causes might or might not be plaguing my reluctant patient.

"_Cómo_?" Sanchez asked, clearly having not the slightest inkling of what I was asking him.

I looked to Rabara who hesitated, not knowing if that was a question he really could ask Sanchez.

"Would you translate, please?" I asked.

Rabara heaved a reluctant sigh and translated, causing Sanchez to become even paler. An argument ensued in Spanish again, as Sanchez decided that he'd had enough, but at last Rabara must have ordered him to continue with the interview.

I waited patiently for him to answer.

Looking like he would have rather wrestled the Kraken than answer me, Sanchez croaked a response. "At times."

"Ah," I said, knowing I was getting somewhere. "Well, now, let's have a look, shall we?" I gave Rabara a look that said he should leave us some privacy, and he was all too happy to take up position once more outside the door.

I was impressed with how pale Sanchez's dark complexion had gone when he realized that I was entirely serious about him dropping his trousers, and once more I had to have Rabara come in and argue vehemently with him about complying with my request. Evidently Rabara threatened that he and Carranzo would remove Sanchez's breeches themselves if he didn't cooperate, and Sanchez realized that he wasn't getting out of his examination.

Rabara made one more comment in a jovial way to Sanchez, jerking his head in my direction as he did so, and at last Sanchez nodded, managing a very weak smile. I suspect his comment was something to the effect that at least he had a woman asking him to take his clothes off.

My suspicions were confirmed as soon as I examined Sanchez - I'd seen the very same thing with Mr. Cook, the wine merchant in Port Royal. He winced upon me palpating his groin, and it was painfully obvious that he'd been suffering from at least three large stones that gritted together like so many pebbles in his urinary bladder when I pushed on them.

"Oh dear, these are going to have to come out," I said, knowing they were only going to get larger and cause more problems as time went on. They were already quite substantial, and were not going to be retrieved by the older method of dilating the urethra and drawing them out.

"_Cómo_?" he asked as he stood and quickly drew his breeches back on. "Did you say 'come out'?"

"Yes, they are very large and I'm afraid I'll have to operate," I said, starting to mull over how I was going to go about doing such a thing on a pirate ship. A dull thud yanked me from my contemplation, and when I looked down, I found poor Sanchez sprawled upon the floor of the cabin, passed out cold.

--

I gave Sanchez time to decide if he wanted to go ahead with the procedure, and while he seemed extremely reluctant to pursue surgical intervention, I knew he must be in constant pain, if a pirate as rugged and stoic as he appeared to be, was continually complaining and being slowed down by his condition. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he reluctantly agreed to let me try to help him.

--

At dinner that evening, I sat at the table with Barbossa and Turk, while the two of them lamented the fact that it was once again Hamlyn's night on galley duty.

I was merely picking at my dinner, content mostly to eat a handful of grapes as I sat there lost deep in thought about the procedure I wanted to perform on Sanchez.

"Is there any opium on board the ship?" I asked, interrupting the complaints from my two dinner companions.

Both stopped what they were saying instantly.

"What?" Barbossa asked me. "Did yeh jus' ask fer opium?"

"Yes."

Barbossa and Turk shared a look that said they clearly didn't understand why I would ask such a thing. I'm sure they both knew me well enough to know that I didn't make a habitual use of anything stronger than red wine.

"'Tis possible," Barbossa replied after thinking it over. "Some of the crew have been known to acquire it in Tortuga from time to time."

"I see," I said. "Would it be possible to find out?"

"What is it that you want it fer?" Barbossa asked, obviously intrigued.

"I intend to formulate some laudanum if I can find some. It'll help a great deal with with surgery on Sanchez," I explained.

"Surgery?" Turk asked. "Som'thin' yeh feel the need to cut off that ox of a Spaniard?"

"Not off…out of," I said. "He has stones of the bladder that are causing him great pain, and the only way I can help him is to remove them."

Turk let out a low whistle, obviously daunted by the thought of me cutting into the man's body. "I dunno, May," he said, "seems like the cure might be wors'n the problem."

"It's not ideal, I'll grant you that much," I said in agreement, "but the stubborn old goat has let this carry on far too long, and he's left himself and me no choice."

Barbossa sat contemplating the depths of the drink he swirled in his cup for a moment before speaking. "Have yeh done this before, lass?"

I nodded. "Yes, three times," I replied, and then I grew quiet.

Barbossa's eyes met mine in question.

"Two were successful…one…well…the surgical site festered four days later and he died of fever," I said.

"So, his chances be one in three?" Barbossa asked.

"Typically, with this new procedure, the outcome is only unfavorable for one in ten," I said, hoping that I'd gotten my failure out of the way for a while.

"New procedure?" Turk asked me.

"Yes, it's a newer technique that's gaining great favor among surgeons…one that Monsieur Dumond excels at…fewer complications with this lateral perineal approach than the traditional perineal or supra-pubic…"

"English, lass," Barbossa requested with a laugh.

I smiled back. "Sorry." I went on to explain to the two pirates exactly where the incision was made for accessing the urinary bladder, how the stones could be removed, and how the whole thing would be closed back up.

"The incision doesn't have to be large," I explained as my two pirate companions listened with morbid fascination, "and it's made just in front of the anus…"

"Gah! May!" Turk said, obviously disturbed. "Did yeh hafta say that?"

"What?" I asked, not quite sure what his problem was. "Anus?"

"Gah!" Turk said, cringing again. Barbossa was beginning to chuckle at Turk's response to what I'd said.

I smiled sweetly at Turk, amused at the fact that my typically foul-mouthed friend was disquieted by something as simple as the use of anatomically correct terminology. Knowing I owed him one for telling Barbossa I said I wished he could keep up with me in the bedroom, I retaliated.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I knew Barbossa knew I was up to no good by the look he gave me across the table, "I didn't realize you were bothered by the word _anus_."

Turk grimaced. "Feh! It's friggin' awful."

"It's not as bad as _rectum_, though."

"Bloody hell, woman!" Turk exclaimed as Barbossa sniggered and buried his face in one hand. "Yer givin' me the willies jus' sayin' that!"

"I thought you wanted to know about the surgery?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I'm not so sure," he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Well, then I promise I won't use either of those words again," I said with my hand over my heart.

"Alright…go on then," Turk said, looking a little dubious.

"So," I resumed my explanation, "the incision is made…what?" I had seen the look on Turk's face that said he was mentally bracing himself.

"Yer not gonna use that word again, are yeh?" he asked.

"I said I wasn't, and I won't," I said reassuringly.

"Fine. Go on," he instructed me.

"The incision is made just behind the base of the _penis_…"

"Gah!" Turk exclaimed, shuddering visibly and turning a bit red. "How can yeh stand talkin' to a woman like this?" he asked Barbossa, who was laughing heartily at his bo'sun's discomfort. "How do yeh deal with her sayin' such things? Has she said that…that _word_ in front of yeh?"

Barbossa merely shrugged.

Turk frowned at him. "Yeah? Don't tell me the term hasn't come up before with _her_ around," he said, giving me a dirty look.

Barbossa smirked. "Oh, it's come up plenty, Master Turk," he said wryly, and Turk suddenly burst into laughter at Barbossa's humorous double meaning, while it was my turn to flush slightly red.

Once I had managed to explain the procedure in a generalized, less anatomically specific way, Turk pushed back his plate, no longer hungry, and looking a little pale. "Bloody hell, May," he said, "that sounds like a fuckin' nightmare."

"Oh, it's quite straightforward, really," I said, and then I realized that he wasn't speaking of the logistics of the procedure. I smiled warmly at him. "It's less complicated than what I had to do to put you back together."

Turk winked at me. "Yeah, well, at least with Sanchez yeh have all the pieces," he said wryly, tossing back the last of the rum in his cup.

Barbossa pushed back his chair and stood. "Be right back," he said, and he crossed to the door and flung it open.

"I want ev'ry last bloomin' cockroach that's aboard this ship on deck in five minutes!" he bellowed across the deck, causing a flurry of frantic activity beyond the door. He turned back to me and smirked. "If there be opium aboard the _Pearl_, it'll be yers tonight, lass," he said, and he turned and strode out on deck.

"Yeh have to admit…he gets things movin' when he has a mind to," Turk said, amused by his captain. "He'll find yeh what yeh need, I bet."

--

Turk was right, and after telling the crew what it was he wanted, the offer of a fair bit of gold in return for any opium his crew might have tucked away on board produced a substantial return. Fifteen minutes later, Barbossa triumphantly entered the cabin again, and placed a small leather pouch, along with a small ornately carved box on the table in front of me with a grin. "Fer you, M'lady," he said, obviously pleased with himself.

Turk rolled his eyes after seeing the look of adoring gratitude I gave Barbossa. "I s'pose now in return yer expectin' her to…"

"Of course not," Barbossa scolded him, mildly offended. He could only maintain the expression for a moment before a smirk took its place. "I was expectin' that well before she asked fer the opium."

I shot him a dirty look, but one he knew was contrived, as I knew he was teasing.

--

The next day I rummaged through the galley, and through the boxes of cargo salvaged from both the _Essex _and the _Reina Mercedes_ that had been retained for use on board the _Pearl_. I found the cinnamon and cloves I wanted in a box from the _Essex_, and was fortunate enough to find a case of the sweet wine from the Canary islands that Rabara favored and had kept aboard his ship.

The final thing I wanted was saffron, and to my great surprise I actually found a small box of it in the galley. Hamlyn, still ornery and confrontational, refused to let me have it, saying it was needed for cooking.

I tried to be reasonable for about ten minutes as he stubbornly denied me the box, and at last I had had it.

"Until a moment ago, you probably didn't know what it was, or even that it was edible…you've never touched a spice in your life, and I doubt you even know what edible means!" I snarled.

"I bloody well have so!" Hamlyn roared. "Yeh ain't depletin' my stores an that's that!"

I wasn't done. "You _will_ hand that over," I said angrily, not about to be thwarted when it came to something I needed for one of my patients.

Hamlyn stared me down for a second or two, and then tucked the small box under his hat. "No, I _won_'_t_," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Mr. Hamlyn," I started firmly, "I need that for my patient…"

"Y'ain't gettin' it," he said stubbornly.

"Fine then," I said, picking my skirt up and turning to leave. "We'll just see about who ends up with that saffron."

I should have left well enough alone, and made due without the saffron, for although I found myself quickly in possession of the small box, thanks to my intimidating paramour, I also found myself with full responsibility for galley duty for the next week, as Hamlyn found himself occupying the cell across from Jack Sparrow in the brig. I'm fairly certain that Barbossa was more interested in seeing to it that he'd be eating my cooking, rather than Hamlyn's, more than he was looking to punish the ship's current cook for harassing me.

--

The surgeon's chest from the _Reina Mercedes_ had never been disturbed, other than to have the bottle of brandy used for medicinal purposes quickly removed, and I was pleased to have a modest complement of surgical instruments and medical supplies at my disposal.

After mixing what I estimated to be about two ounces of the opium, along with a small amount of cinnamon, cloves and my hard-won saffron with a pint or so of the Canary wine, I was ready for the moment when I suspected that Sanchez was going to opt for surgery.

--

--

**A/N:** While there were several variations of laudanum,(technically a combination of opium and alchohol, often sweetened or having spices added) I use the same formulation as in Clare Clark's book, _The Nature of Monsters_: Two ounces of opium, an ounce of saffron, a drachm of cinnamon and of cloves, all dissolved in a pint of Canary wine. This is the same formulation standardized by Thomas Sydenham, a pioneer of English medicine, in the late 17th C.

Opium, as you may already be aware, contains the powerful painkillers morphine and codeine. Canary wine is a sweet white wine produced in the Canary islands, a Spanish archipeligo located off the northwest coast of Afica. It was quite fortuitous that the _Pearl's_ Crew rescued the wine from Rabara's sinking Spanish ship. ;)


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine ~*~**

--

_Hamlyn stared me down for a second or two, and then tucked the small box under his hat. "No, I won't," he said, folding his arms across his chest._

_"Mr. Hamlyn," I started firmly, "I need that for my patient…"_

_"Y'ain't gettin' it," he said stubbornly._

_"Fine then," I said, picking my skirt up and turning to leave. "We'll just see about who ends up with that saffron."_

_I should have left well enough alone, and made due without the saffron, for although I found myself quickly in possession of the small box, thanks to my intimidating paramour, I also found myself with full responsibility for galley duty for the next week, as Hamlyn found himself occupying the cell across from Jack Sparrow in the brig. I'm fairly certain that Barbossa was more interested in seeing to it that he'd be eating my cooking, rather than Hamlyn's, more than he was looking to punish the ship's current cook for harassing me._

_--_

It was fortunate that the _Black Pearl's_ crew often ate in watches, except for those infrequent occasions when a ship had been plundered and celebrations were in order, for it made preparing such large quantities of food a bit easier by doing it in two shifts.

I had finished for the evening with my duties in the galley, and tired, sweaty and infused yet again with the smell of onions, I nevertheless had one more thing I felt I needed to do. Knowing that Gibbs was busing discussing the status of supplies and repairs with Turk and Barbossa, I took it upon myself to put aside two helpings of dinner: one for Jack, and despite the fact that the man irritated me to no end, one for Hamlyn.

I carried the tray with two bowls and two mugs of grog down to the level of the brig, and set the whole thing down on top of a barrel in the corner.

"Well, if it isn't the little kitchen scullion," Hamlyn said sarcastically.

I ignored his comment, and brought him dinner while Jack climbed to his feet in the opposite cell and leaned on the bars with curiosity.

"Here," I said, trying to hand the bowl through to Hamlyn, who refused to take it.

"Not interested," he said, and he promptly folded his arms across his chest and ignored what I offered him.

"Fine," I said, and I knelt and tucked both the bowl and mug through the lower bars and set them on the floor in a corner. "I'll just leave them there in case you change your mind."

"Not hungry," he said stubbornly.

I turned and brought the other bowl to Jack's cell, where he'd been watching me interact with Hamlyn.

"Dinner," I said, passing the bowl through to him.

His dark eyes met mine as he took it. "Many thanks, Gwen," he said with a tiny smirk, and he then took the mug I offered him and sat down cross-legged on the floor to begin eating. "You make this?" he asked with his mouth full, after taking a bite.

"Yes," I said, about to turn away to leave the brig.

"This is quite good," he said, contemplating the food in his lap as he ate.

Hamlyn snorted derisively from the cell behind me. "Huh."

Jack eyed him for a minute and then turned his gaze back to me. "Barbossa's a lucky man to have you aboard the ship," he said.

"_His_ ship," I said, finding myself teasing a little.

Jack gave me a brief scowl, and then looked thoughtful as he chewed the next bite for a moment. "So, tell me, Maddie, what exactly is it that you see in that old seadog, anyway?"

"Barbossa?" I asked, caught off guard by his question.

"Aye," he said, watching me as he ate. He watched me struggle with whether or not I should answer him, and then whether or not I had an answer for him. "I mean, look at you...you're smart, cultured, educated...not terribly hard to look at, I might add," he said with a roguish grin. "I imagine there are any number of men that would find that sort of combination appealing...so why a rogue like Barbossa?"

I found it curious that I was actually feeling the need to justify my feelings about Barbossa to the man in front of me, but he spoke again before I could say anything.

Jack dropped his voice a little and smiled knowingly. "Or maybe it's the fact that he _is_ a rogue that appeals to you," he said slyly. "Maybe you like that he's unfettered by society's rules...that he does as he pleases with no apology. Maybe the notion of pirating actually appeals to you on some level, ay?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I said.

"Bet you've never broken a rule in your life, now have you?" Jack asked, polishing off the remains of his dinner. "Miss proper straight-laced doctor."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I said, a bit defensive for some reason.

"No," he said softly, "but don't you get tired of worrying about what everyone else thinks?"

"Who says I do?" I asked, perplexed as to why Jack was making me feel so defensive.

Jack shrugged, and then glanced across at Hamlyn's untouched dinner. "You going to eat that, mate?" he asked, gesturing with his fork. Hamlyn merely grumbled wordlessly from where he had his back turned, and Jack shrugged again and turned his attention back to me.

"I've broken more rules than I care to admit," I said softly with a sigh. "I'm quite sure what I've done would land me in jail...or worse." I knew that just the offense of saving Barbossa from the gallows was enough to earn myself a spot next to him if we were ever caught.

"You mean like saving your _inamorato_ from the gallows," he said, seeming as if he were reading my thoughts.

I nodded.

"Huh," he said, appearing thoughtful again. "Well, that would make two of us."

I frowned as I contemplated his words for a moment. "What do you mean; you saved Barbossa from the gallows?"

"Aye, maybe an hour or two before they would've stretched his neck," Jack said. "Sprang him from the jail in St. Kitts, at great peril to me own hide, I might add."

"St. Kitts - you met up with him there before the mutiny," I said, starting to put pieces together. "Are you saying the he was nearly hung a few weeks after he left me?"

Jack nodded. "Found himself in a cold, dark cell not long after the _Rogue_ was destroyed," he said.

I had all I could do to keep my mouth from dropping open. "I never..."

"So, he's not told you?" Jack asked, sounding amused.

I shook my head.

"Huh," Jack snorted. "_Typical_."

"What is?"

"That Barbossa would leave out a tiny little detail like me saving his mangy old arse," Jack said.

I stood there lost in thought, wondering if Barbossa had neglected to tell me because he knew I would fret about the danger he'd been in, or if he didn't want me to know that he had owed that debt to Jack at one time. There were few things that Barbossa did without reason, and I decided that it was probably both.

I knelt down in on the floor in front of Jack's cell. "Tell me what happened," I said, making myself more comfortable for the story.

Jack looked like he was debating if he could obtain something to benefit himself out of the deal for a moment.

"I did bring you dinner," I reminded him.

He nodded. "That you did, love," he said. "Alright, I'll tell you. It was a lucky thing I happened to get wind of the fact that the authorities had captured the notorious pirate, Hector Barbossa. Probably the only thing that truly saved him was the fact that they delayed hanging him for a day or two because Charles Beckett insisted they wait until he could be present...couldn't pass up the chance to gloat at Barbossa's fate, I'll bet."

Jack's words were like a slap in the face to me. While I knew that Charles had been responsible in a large part for Barbossa being labeled as a pirate before he'd quite traveled down that road, years before, and had constantly gone out of his way to hunt him down and increase the price on his head, I hadn't realized that he'd nearly killed the man I'd fallen in love with perhaps a month before.

"What?" Jack asked, seeing the look on my face at that moment.

"Charles," I said, feeling angry and protective of Barbossa. "I remember he left Port Royal quickly about three weeks after I got home, and when he returned he was clearly vexed by something. Thats about the time he started..." I paused, reluctant to go into more detail about Charles' advances toward me.

"What?" Jack asked curiously.

"He began courting my favor not long after that," I explained, "and he's persisted intermittently for years."

"He doesn't seem like your type," Jack said wryly.

"You know him?" I asked.

"Aye, I'm familiar with all the Becketts, well enough...although there's one fewer of the rotten bastards now," he said, his voice hardening a little.

"I know...I...I had to identify Cutler's remains," I said, and Jack and I were both quiet for a moment as we considered how it was that the younger of the two Beckett brothers had met his fate.

"Can't say as I wouldn't like to see his brother end up the same way," Jack said casually, his hand unconsciously rubbing his right forearm.

I met his eyes with a question in mine, and he sighed and drew back his sleeve. "Compliments of the younger," he said, displaying the old scar.

It wasn't a conscious thing I did when I gasped and reached through the bars to grasp Jack's wrist, pulling it gently across the short distance between us to examine the old mark. I find that there are many times where my inner clinician just takes over, and I scrutinized the injury Jack had sustained at Beckett's hands.

"This is very old," I said, running a finger over the surface of the paler 'P' that shone on his otherwise tanned skin. "It must have been awful."

"It was," he said softly, looking up from where he'd been watching me examine his brand mark.

"Hmm." I let go of his hand. "Something you two actually have in common," I said.

Jack quirked an eyebrow up at my statement.

"You and Hector," I said, causing his brow to climb further.

"And what could we possibly..."

"Both of you were made pirates by someone else's doing," I said.

Jack wasn't ready to admit that he had much in common with his rival. "Barbossa was flirting with it anyway, sailing with Morgan like he did."

I smirked. "Oh, like you wouldn't have eventually crossed the line, Jack, what with your father being Edward Teague and you being familiar with infamous pirates since you could walk."

Jack took on a defensive air. "Would not...I'd planned to have a distinguished career as a respectable merchant captain for the grand old EITC," he said, more than a touch of derision in his voice.

"I find that hard to believe," I said, amused at his argument. "You seem to like being a pirate too much, Jack."

Jack focused his dark eyes on mine. "Will _you_ turn pirate?" he asked.

My brow furrowed deeply as I answered him. "Certainly not. While I might find myself aboard the _Black Pearl_ and bound to her captain, that does not mean..."

"I felt just as adamant then, as you do now," he said softly, sounding quite sincere.

"Oh." I wasn't sure I liked where the conversation was taking us, and I opted to change topics. "You were going to tell me of St. Kitts," I said.

"So I was," Jack said. "Well, it's like this, Maddie; the jail at St. Kitts is a veritable fortress, and getting in even proves to be tricky."

--

Jack scrutinized the fortress in the distance through his spyglass, frowning to himself as he made note of the number of marines that seemed to be bustling about on the King's Navy's business at such an early hour.

"It's like a bloody hornet's nest down there," he said to no one in particular, frustrated that he couldn't see a route that looked promising for a way in. It was just after dawn, and he knew he was running out of time if he hoped to get into the fort as he'd planned.

Trying desperately to come up with some sort of alternative, and pacing back and forth along the grassy knoll he stood on, he soon became aware of the sound of someone humming. Jack halted in his tracks and retraced his steps to a point where he could see the path that led up and over the hill he was standing on, and then off into the distance toward the fort. There, walking along with a book tucked under one elbow, was a man of indeterminate age, wearing the mundane brown robe and cowl that signified a humble man of the cloth.

"A priest," Jack said out loud, no longer quite as concerned about being seen. Not that he'd likely be in trouble unless anyone thought to look under his right sleeve, but still, a priest was less likely to be suspicious and judgmental than most.

"Morning, Padre," Jack said pleasantly as the monk neared where he was standing.

"Good morning, my son," came the voice from within the robe.

Jack could see that the man was probably twice his age now that they were so close.

"Out for a stroll to start the day, are you?" Jack asked, making conversation while he still mulled over attaining admittance to the fort in the distance.

"And to do God's work," came the serene reply. "I go to confess those in need before they must face His judgment."

"A worthy endeavor, for certain," Jack said back softly. "May God have mercy on their souls, Padre."

"And on yours, my son," the priest said, speaking again in Latin and making the sign of the cross over Jack.

Jack nodded at the man before he passed, thankful for the blessing and thinking he was going to need all the help he could...

"Oh, Padre?" Jack called to the man who was now beyond him on the path to the fort.

"Yes?" the monk asked, turning back toward Jack.

"You wouldn't, by any chance, be heading to the fort?"

"Why, yes," the robed man answered. "There are several who will go to the gallows at midday that I must tend to."

Jack appeared to be deep in thought. "Uh huh, I see," he said absently. "Well, don't let me keep you, Padre. You're obviously on an important mission."

The priest turned away with a wave once again, and headed down the path.

--

A quarter mile later, all that could be seen of the priest were his feet, as his unconscious form was dragged into the bushes.

"My sincerest apologies, Padre," Jack said, slipping the monk's robe over his own head and drawing up the hood, "but think of it this way...while you're up here having a lovely little nap, I'll be the one providing the salvation that prisoner needs most."

--

I laughed a little, interrupting Jack's telling of his story. "A priest? Come now, surely you're making this up?"

"S' all true," he said, smiling but sounding sincere. "Just ask Barbossa."

"I may," I said, thinking that I might actually ask him about the hanging he'd avoided and omitted from anything he'd told me about what had happened since we were last in each other's company. "So, you went to the fort as a priest; did they actually let you in?"

"Of course," said Jack with mock indignation, "I make a very convincing priest...even performed a few marriages meself, come to think on it."

"Oh, not you too," I said, amused at the thought of anyone being married by one of the two Pirate Lords on the ship.

Jack's expression changed for an instant, becoming something that I swore radiated disappointment, and then it was gone, replaced by a subtle smirk. "Shall I go on?"

"Please," I said, wondering what had prompted his brief, yet pained look.

"Thankfully, a priest arriving to confess the pirates and other vagabonds in the prison was a regular occurrence, and the officer in charge of the watch immediately sent a guard to accompany me to the dungeon."

"The dungeon?" I asked, not pleased at all to think of Barbossa stuck someplace so unpleasant. "They put him in the dungeon?'

Jack nodded. "Aye, in a cell by himself with nothing but the rats for company, and a single candle to burn through the night," he replied. "No food, no water...great humanitarians they are, your gallant Navy officers."

Jack's comment hit home, as I grew even more upset at what Barbossa must have endured for what was almost the last night of his life. While it was true he had actually died, and at Jack's hand, his end had been sudden and unexpected...and of course, he'd been brought back by Calypso. But waiting to die for an entire agonizing night alone must have been horrible.

Overwhelmed to a degree with the flood of emotion that Jack's story had elicited from me, I stood up, unable to say anything. Jack stood as well, watching me struggle with my feelings.

"So," I said after a long minute, "you got him out."

Jack's expression stayed quite solemn while he saw me still fighting back tears, and he nodded.

"How long did he have?" I asked hoarsely.

Jack shrugged. "An hour...maybe two...loads of time, really," he continued, trying to make light of the situation.

It bothered me to no end that such a short time after I'd said goodbye to Barbossa, all those years ago, that he'd come so close to dying. I wondered if Calypso would have brought him back then. "He must have sent the letter after," I said.

"What letter?" Jack asked curiously.

"He sent me a letter; he told me he'd signed onto the _Black Pearl_ and was picking up a crew in Tortuga," I said. "I never knew that you..."

I didn't finish what I started to say, and I think that I surprised both Jack and myself when I reached through the bars to take his hand again. He wore a puzzled frown as he looked at where my fingers enclosed his.

"Thank you," I said very softly, and then I let go and turned away quickly to head for the stairs.

"Madeline," he called to me, causing me to stop on the second stair and look back. "You're welcome," he said, looking as if he was surprised to hear his own words, and then I climbed the rest of the way to the deck.

--

Barbossa was alone in the cabin when I entered after knocking, seated and pouring over some navigational charts. He glanced up briefly when I came in, muttering a greeting and then returning to his work.

I watched him thinking for a long minute, and then went to stand next to his chair and rested my hand on his shoulder. My grip tightening after a moment caused him to look up, and seeing the strained look I must have been wearing, he frowned a bit and spoke.

"What is it, lass?" he asked.

It took me a minute to speak. "You never told me you were nearly hanged," I said in a hoarse whisper. I could tell by the look that crossed his face that he hadn't been expecting what I'd said.

"Where did yeh hear that?" he asked.

"Jack," I said.

"Ye've been down to talk to him again?" Barbossa asked, irritated and obviously making an attempt to redirect the conversation. I didn't let him.

"Don't change the subject," I said quietly. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Knowing by that point that I wasn't giving up without an answer, he sat back in his chair heavily with a sigh. "What might be the point of me tellin' yeh, Madeline? 'Twould have only upset yeh..the way ye be at the moment."

"Jack Sparrow rescued you." It wasn't a question, and he didn't like that I knew; I could tell by the way his gaze frosted over.

"Aye," he said, "and what of it?" His tone was becoming defensive, and it hadn't been my intent to be confrontational.

"Nothing," I said quietly. "I just wish you had told me."

"Why?" he asked coolly.

I was surprised by the magnitude of the sigh I released. "I want to know about you," I said, meeting the icy stare. "We missed out on years, Hector. I want to know everything that I missed."

"Everythin', huh?" he said, and while his voice was still stern, I could see that his stare was thawing.

"Yes," I said, "everything. I know there will be things I won't like, but it doesn't matter. I need you to tell me." Neither of us said anything for a moment. "Are you afraid I'll think less of you because of the things I might learn?" I finally asked him, ever so gently.

His expression was difficult to read as he answered me in a guarded way. "Aye," was all he said, and then he looked away.

"Hector," I said softly, reaching to touch his face and coax him back around to face me, "it doesn't matter." I moved to settle myself in his lap, and he slipped an arm around me. I snuggled in close and leaned my forehead against his as I whispered. "I know what you are."

"Do yeh now?" he asked back in the same way.

"Aye," I said. "_Rogue_," I whispered and I planted a tiny kiss on his cheek, "_but_ _I love you._"

"Yeh might have just said that as prettily to me as ye did that horse of yers," he said, his voice soft with wry humor.

I smiled a little, and laid my head upon his shoulder, nestling in close, but I wasn't going to let him redirect things he seemed uncomfortable with. "Do you believe me?" I asked.

"Aye," he said, tightening his embrace a little.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

"Aye," he started, but I cut him off gently as I placed my hand over his heart.

"With _this_?" I asked.

It took him a long moment to answer, and he did so in an unsteady whisper. "Aye, lass."

"_Well, isn't this just the coziest little moment."_

Both of us were startled by someone else in the cabin doorway speaking to us, and when we looked up suddenly, Jack was standing there smirking.

--

--

**A/N:** The scenario in the flashback Jack tells Madeline is based upon the story by Barbossa'sMonkey called, **Of Priests and Pirates**. If you haven't read it, you should. She writes a lovely Barbossa and she should be writing more. Oh, and we both realize that Jack was accused of impersonating a cleric of the Church of England in CotBP, but I'd be willing to believe that it wasn't the only time Jack has done such a thing. :D

You'll notice that our timeframes differ slightly, and that she references some of the happenings in NBHP, but I have always thought that Barbossa was made a Pirate Lord before sailing on the _Black Pearl_ with Jack, and I loved her reasoning as to how he ended up submitting himself to be first mate. Check it out! :D


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty ~*~**

--

_"Hector," I said softly, reaching to touch his face and coax him back around to face me, "it doesn't matter." I moved to settle myself in his lap, and he slipped an arm around me. I snuggled in close and leaned my forehead against his as I whispered. "I know what you are."_

_"Do yeh now?" he asked back in the same way._

_"Aye," I said. "Rogue," I whispered and I planted a tiny kiss on his cheek, "but I love you."_

_"Yeh might have just said that as prettily to me as ye did that horse of yers," he said, his voice soft with wry humor._

_I smiled a little, and laid my head upon his shoulder, nestling in close, but I wasn't going to let him redirect things he seemed uncomfortable with. "Do you believe me?" I asked._

_"Aye," he said, tightening his embrace a little._

_"Do you trust me?" I asked._

_"Aye," he started, but I cut him off gently as I placed my hand over his heart._

_"With this?" I asked._

_It took him a long moment to answer, and he did so in an unsteady whisper. "Aye, lass."_

_"Well, isn't this just the coziest little moment."_

_Both of us were startled by someone else in the cabin doorway speaking to us, and when we looked up suddenly, Jack was standing there smirking._

_--_

I think my mouth actually dropped open, and Barbossa quickly scowled and shot me an accusatory look as I shook my head, silently but adamantly letting him know I hadn't let Jack out.

"Oh, don't blame her," Jack said, standing there with a pistol in one hand, which he was pointing at where I was sharing the chair with Barbossa. In his other hand he was casually twirling what appeared to be a mangled fork through his fingers.

It dawned on both of us simultaneously as to what must have happened, and Barbossa rolled his eyes, exasperated with me. "Yeh left a _fork_ in the brig with him?" he asked, clearly displeased.

I sat in his lap with my mouth open, trying to come up with a suitable answer. "I...I didn't..." I started babbling. Of course, I had been preoccupied with strong emotions when I'd left the brig, and didn't think to retrieve the used bowl and utensil from Jack.

Barbossa made as if to stand, and I made as if I were going to get off his lap.

"Uh-uh," Jack said, waiving the pistol at us a bit to indicated we should stay where we were, and we both complied readily. "Now," he said, tossing the fork on the table and pulling the chair at the opposite end of the table out, and then sitting down and plunking his feet up casually on it, "we need to have little chat."

I'm sure it was obvious that I wasn't comfortable with the gun being pointed at us, but Barbossa seemed unconcerned. "What is it yeh want, Jack?"

Jack wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What do I want?" he repeated back. "I think you know what I want, Barbossa."

"Yeh can't have her, Jack," he said evenly.

"I hardly think you're in a position to argue," Jack said, somewhat amused. He cocked the hammer on the pistol to add emphasis to his words, and I reflexively flinched and buried my face against Barbossa's neck, unsure whether or not Jack would resort to pulling the trigger again. "You might want to rethink your position on that. Savvy?"

"Is that so?" Barbossa said, and I thought it odd from where I had hidden my face that he sounded not only confident, but amused as well, and I risked looking up to see what had happened.

The source of Barbossa's confident demeanor became immediately apparent as I glanced across at Jack sitting with his feet propped up on the table, and a frown now spreading across his face. Standing behind him with a gun once again aimed just behind his ear, was Turk.

Jack swallowed hard. "That ox of a bo'sun of yours is standing behind me with a gun pointed at my head again, isn't he?"

Barbossa nodded, saying nothing as he watched Jack come to the realization that he wasn't in control of the situation anymore.

"Bugger," Jack swore under his breath, and he eased off the trigger and set the pistol slowly down on the table.

"This way if yeh please," Barbossa said, sounding a bit cocky by that point, and Jack made as if to slide the gun across the table, but at that moment the sound of another pistol trigger could be heard, and Gibbs stepped up behind Turk and pressed a gun to his back.

Jack grabbed up his gun and pointed it our way once more, and the five of us said nothing for a long moment as Gibbs pointed a gun at Turk, who pointed one at Jack, who pointed one at where I was still sitting in Barbossa's lap.

"Well, then," Barbossa said, after assessing the situation, "it seems as though we have a bit of a standoff at the moment. Perhaps 'twould be best if..."

"Seeing as how you're the only one without a gun in his hand, I hardly think you're the one that should be making suggestions," Jack said smugly.

We all heard the faint click of another trigger being readied, and I realized, as did the others, that Barbossa was pointing a pistol at Jack under the table, and one I hadn't even realized he'd drawn.

"What was that ye'd be sayin', Jack?" Barbossa asked with a smirk.

Jack glanced down uneasily at his lap once, not liking where Barbossa's pistol was likely pointed, but he recovered his composure quickly, and offering Barbossa a charming smile, he adjusted the angle of his pistol just enough that Barbossa would know it was aimed directly at me.

"Put the gun down, Jack." Barbossa's voice was low and dangerous, and I knew he was angry at Sparrow trying to change the equation by threatening me.

"You put yours down first, mate," Jack insisted.

Each stared the other down for what seemed an eternity, and as the stalemate wore on, I became less intimidated and more irritated, especially as it seemed neither one was doing anything to see to it that there wasn't a loaded gun pointed at me. I looked to Turk and Gibbs, who each shrugged at me from behind the pistols they wielded, and finally, I had had enough.

"This," I said, climbing off Barbossa's lap abruptly and standing up, "could not be more ridiculous." I headed resolutely for the door.

Jack put a hand firmly on my arm as I try to walk past him. "Can't let you leave just yet, dearie," he said.

"What are you going to do, shoot me?" I asked, pulling my arm away. "Well, then, even if Mr. Gibbs uses his pistol, whoever is left...either Turk or Barbossa, will shoot you."

Jack appeared to think it over for a moment and then smiled. "Well then, suppose I just shoot Barbossa?"

I folded my arms across my chest. "Turk will shoot you, Gibbs will shoot him, and we still end up with me thinking you _were_ all a bunch of childish idiots."

The men in the room seemed to be trying to figure out if there was another way out of the current stalemate, but I was done with having loaded weapons being waved at me and stepped quickly toward Gibbs. "Give me that," I snapped, yanking the gun out of his hand to his great surprise, as well as mine.

"Thank yeh, darlin'," Turk said, grinning until I snatched his gun too.

I emptied both guns and tossed them on the table. "You two come with me," I said, indicating Turk and Gibbs, and the two pirates shared confused looks while I took each by an arm. "Let them shoot each other if that's what they want," I added, clearly meaning Jack and Barbossa.

"Quite the fitting end to the careers of the two most illustrious pirates in the Caribbean...shooting each other senselessly aboard the _Black Pearl_," I added sarcastically.

"Well, that's where you've got it all wrong about us, Maddie," Jack said, flashing me a winning smile.

"You're not going to shoot each other senselessly?" I asked doubtfully.

"Oh, we might," Jack added, "but it's not just the Caribbean, love...you're in the presence of the two most infamous scallywags in probably the entire _world_."

I looked at Barbossa who nodded, trying not to smirk. "Aye, Jack, that be true," he said.

"Well, look at that," I said. "Captain Sparrow and Captain Barbossa actually agree on something." I gave Barbossa a pointed look and took once more to escorting Turk and Gibbs to the door.

"Do yeh think we should leave 'em alone together?" Gibbs said anxiously, glancing one last time over his shoulder.

"I think they'll be just fine," I said. "Neither one is going to want to end up dead...erm _again..._or even worse, face such an ignominious end after such colorful careers."

Turk nodded as we closed the doors behind us. "Yeah, an' despite the way it looks, yeh're dealing with a couple of pretty clever and devious blokes in there...they'll figure somethin' out."

--

Turk, Gibbs and I paced outside the cabin anxiously as the moments wore on, dragging themselves into a half hour that eventually started closing in on an entire one. While no gunshots had been heard coming from within the depths of the great cabin, I was beginning to fret that perhaps the two pirates had put their guns down in favor of the more hands-on approach of strangling the life out of one another, and I wondered if we were to open the doors if I would find the two deceased, sprawled across the table with their fingers wrapped around each other's necks.

"Maybe we should check up on them," I said quietly to Turk, who nodded. Gibbs and I stood just behind Turk as he went to knock on the door, but we all had to step back quickly as the doors flung open and both of the captains stepped out, apparently having come to some truce for the moment.

"Well?" I asked Barbossa anxiously from where I stood, flanked by Turk and Gibbs.

"We've reached an accord," he said, still looking a bit harried.

Gibbs, Turk and I all shared looks, and Gibbs voiced the question we all must have been thinking. "Sir..._s_," he said awkwardly, "which of yeh might be captain of the _Black Pearl..._so that the men might know who's in charge."

"I am," they each said, and then Jack explained further.

"After careful consideration and deliberation, _Captain_ Barbossa and I have arrived at the consensus that the only equitable way to allocate responsibility for the welfare of this magnificent ship is to apportion accountability in equal measures," said Jack with an air of ceremony.

"You're going to share?" I asked incredulously.

"Aye," Barbossa said, confirming Jack's announcement. "'The _Pearl_ be half the responsibility of each of us."

Gibbs looked quite concerned at that point. "You're not goin' to...erm...divide 'er in half again...are yeh...Cap'ns?" he asked. "Seems to as tho' that weren't the most efficient way to..."

"Nay, Master Gibbs," Barbossa said reassuringly, "command will extend to the entire ship for the duration of twenty-four hours apiece."

I admit that I was surprised that either Jack or Barbossa would agree to willingly relinquish command of the _Black Pearl_ for even that period of time at a stretch. "So, whatever one captain says on his day on duty goes?" I asked, realizing that there must be a lot at stake for each of them to agree to such a thing.

"Aye," they each replied, although none too enthusiastically.

"When does the day start?" Turk asked, still seeming a bit baffled himself at the cooperation between the two pirates.

"At sundown each day," Barbossa replied.

"It's just after sundown now," I said, "so which one of you is going first?"

It became apparent that the two of them had not made it as far as negotiating that point, and by the looks they each wore, it appeared the situation was in jeopardy of deteriorating again.

"Perhaps decide by the toss of a coin?" Gibbs suggested quickly.

Jack grinned. "That, Mr. Gibbs, is a marvelous suggestion." He then reached into a pocket and withdrew a gold coin and handed it to me. "If the lady would do the honors," he said with a charming smile that I ignored, "then I call _heads_."

Barbossa nodded when I looked askance at him, and I tossed the coin, caught it and slapped it over on my other hand. I was taken completely aback at what I was suddenly looking at, and I said nothing for a long moment as the four men waited expectantly.

"Well?" Barbossa demanded. "What is it?"

"Heads," I said in a small voice, still staring at the face on the coin.

"There you go," Jack said flippantly, knowing he'd won the toss.

"Let me see that," Barbossa demanded, stepping closer to me to reach for the coin. He instantly withdrew his hand with a sharp intake of breath when his eyes saw the stylized Aztec skull grinning up at him, and his expression clouded over menacingly. "Where did you get that?" he snarled at Jack.

Jack shrugged and smirked. Although the coin could do no harm to anyone save he who had stolen it from the chest of Cortez, Jack knew that the sudden appearance of the hated gold would be enough to give Barbossa a good start. "Found it tucked in a knot in a beam in the brig," he said. "Thought I'd hang onto it for good luck."

Barbossa snarled wordlessly at Jack and turned to head for the cabin. "Come with me, Madeline," he ordered, and I handed the coin hastily back to Jack.

"Not so fast, Barbossa," Jack said, causing the older pirate to stop and turn. "_Captain's_ cabin," he said, nodding at the door, "and at the moment, well, _you're_ not the captain."

The realization of that fact did not appear to sit well with my paramour.

Jack sauntered toward the cabin. "You'll need to clear off, mate...you too," he said to me pleasantly, "unless that is...you might still be inclined to warm the current captain's bed, darling."

It was my turn to give Jack a dirty look.

"No? All right, then," he said, feigning disappointment. "In that case," he continued, gesturing flamboyantly at Turk, me and Barbossa, "you, you and you..._shoo_." He waved us off and headed for the cabin triumphantly with Gibbs in tow, leaving me standing with Turk and Barbossa.

"Yeh should've jus' shot 'im under the table when yeh had the chance," Turk said, as the three of us stood there staring at the cabin door.

"Yeh're probably right," Barbossa replied with an exasperated sigh.

"I'll go an' tell the crew 'bout the new arrangement," Turk said quietly. He put his hand on Barbossa's shoulder for a moment. "Yeh're sure this is what yeh want, Hector? It's not too late...I can still toss his scrawny arse off the ship if yeh change yer mind."

I smiled a bit to myself at Turk's show of solidarity with his captain and best friend, and didn't doubt that with the difference in stature between him and Jack that he probably, quite literally, despite the missing half of an arm, could do just that.

"No," Barbossa replied quietly. "Go and tell the crew."

Turk said nothing else, nodded once in acknowledgement, and headed off.

I knew it must have taken a lot for Barbossa to relinquish command of his ship, even if it was for only twenty-four hours at a stretch, and he stood there, seeming to be struggling with something.

"What is it?" I asked, putting a hand lightly on his arm.

"Nothin'," he replied.

"I see," I said, and I tightened my grip on his arm, tugging him along with me as I headed for the small cabin I had use of. "Come with me."

He raised an eyebrow at me, but submitted himself be led inside.

"I suppose Turk's going to have to sleep with the rest of the crew tonight," I said, shutting the door behind us, feeling a little guilty about displacing him from the bed and relegating him to a hammock with the others.

"Bloody ox could sleep on a rock," Barbossa grumbled pleasantly.

"So, are you going to tell me what this accord you've reached with Jack is all about, or is it not worth your time to bother to share your plans with a _woman_?" I asked, my tone mostly teasing.

"Surely yeh're not implyin' that I think yeh're not worth my time in some way," he said, teasing back, but sounding quite tired by then.

"Am I?" I asked, moving closer and reaching up to toy with the medallion that hung against his chest.

"You know that to be true," he said, reaching up and caressing my cheek gently.

"Here," I said softly, and I reached up and removed his hat and placed it on the one chair in the small space. I turned back and removed the dagger he wore as well as the pistol he carried, likewise setting them on the chair. He held still, content to leave me to my current task, and he smiled a little when I slipped the baldric he wore his sword on over his head and set it aside.

"What are yeh doin'?" he asked as I slid his coat back from his shoulders and then off, draping it over the chair.

I moved in closer and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Taking care of you," I said affectionately.

He caught one of my hands in one of his, and when I looked up to meet his gaze he looked quite serious. "'Tis not somethin' I'm accustomed to," he said quietly, meeting my eyes. He said nothing else as we stood there for a long moment, but I thought I understood his brief statement. I knew my gestures of kindness and affection were not unappreciated by him, and it was his way of letting me know that while he wasn't opposed to them, he was still getting used to the idea.

"I suppose we have a lot of things we need to become more accustomed to," I said in reply, gently freeing my hand and returning to undo more buttons. He let me take the waistcoat from him and add it to the collection on the chair, and when I turned back once more he was reaching for his own shirt.

I brushed his hands aside playfully. "Let me," I whispered, reaching to plant a chaste kiss on his scarred cheek. He dropped his hands back to his sides, complying with my request, and after I gently removed his shirt, I leaned and placed another gentle kiss on the small scar just off center of his chest.

He closed his eyes and issued a soft sigh of pleasure, and then another when I caught up his hand and brought his forearm up to plant a kiss on the scar that ran along that area as well.

"We might be here all night if yeh're lookin' to work yer way 'cross all the scars," he said softly, but I could hear faint amusement in his voice.

"Oh, and is there something better that you need to do at the moment?" I asked, continuing to trace kisses along the scar on his wrist.

"No."

"I thought not," I teased as I let his hand go.

"This one's feelin' a bit neglected," he said, indicating a faint line across his ribcage, and I smiled at him, knowing it was from the wound I'd sutured for him a dozen years before. I leaned forward to trace a trio of kisses along it, eliciting a shudder of pleasure from him, and then kissed the scar on his chest again.

"I'm sorry that it was my fault that Jack got out," I said, running my fingers across the same area of his chest.

"Jack who?" he asked absently, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and I could tell he was enjoying my touch.

"Seems to me, Miss Gray, that a bit more of _that_," he said, meaning the way I had been touching him tenderly, "would go a long way to make up fer yer mistake."

I smiled to myself at his comment. If there was one thing I had discovered about my pirate captain very early on, it was that being unused to having physical affection bestowed upon him did not mean he didn't like it, and it appeared to be another thing that he was intent upon making up for the lack of.

"Alright," I said softly, "let me see what I can do."

He raised an eyebrow at my comment, clearly intrigued.

"Lie down," I said, indicating the small bed.

"Is that an order yeh're givin'?" he asked sternly, but I could still hear the subtle trace of amusement.

"It is, seeing as how you're not in a position to give them at present," I said, ever so gently, meaning to tease but not wanting to irritate him.

"No thanks to ye," he replied in the same manner, but then complied with my request.

"Turn over," I said, gesturing for him to roll face down, and then I joined him on the bed as he complied once more, hiking my skirt a little and straddling his hips as I knelt.

"What is it yeh're...?"

"Shhhh," I hushed him, and leaned forward to lay a series of soft kisses along one of the old linear scars along his back, and was rewarded with deep sigh of contentment from him. "I have a lot of ground to cover."

"Aye," he whispered, issuing another soft moan of pleasure and relaxing even more. I continued along a lower pale line, feeling him melt even further into the bed.

After a few moments I stopped, and traced one of the scars with my finger gently.

"By the Powers, woman, don't stop!" he scolded me in a longing whisper, and I laughed and kissed him along the next scar, pausing only long enough to inquire as to the origin of the marks along his back. I'd always had my suspicions, and he confirmed for me as I continued that I'd been right.

"First mate of the _Oxford_ had me flogged," he said softly, pausing to gasp a little as I moved along another scar. I sat back up and began kneading his shoulders, quite sure that he would have started purring if he were a cat by the way he responded.

"'Twas the first punishment handed..._mmm.._. out that voyage..._ohh.._.always…_dear God, Madeline..._.made the first one...._oh aye, just there..._.twice the usual, the bastard..._bloody hell, that's good_," he finished, trailing off as I moved down his back.

"Was this Hartwell?" I asked, recalling somewhere along the line he'd mentioned the name.

"Aye...the same..._blast, girl, don't stop yet..._same wretched cur that..._uunh.._.gave me the one..._oh_, _Madeline.._.on me face," he said in a soft voice as he gave himself over completely to what I was doing.

I continued lavishing my affections on him in that manner while neither of us said anything, pleased with the way he periodically moaned ever so softly, until at last he spoke.

"Yeh're actually enjoying what yeh're doin', aren't yeh?" he inquired.

"Yes."

He reached back and patted my leg, indicating that I should move, and he rolled to face me as I lay down beside him, pressing close because of the limited space of the small bed.

"My apologies, May," he said quietly, "if I don't always know what it is ye expect of me."

"I expect you to be yourself," I said tenderly. "The rest we'll figure out as we go...we're still getting to know each other to a large extent, really."

"Aye, and 'tis still amazin' to me that ye'd be inclined to want to know this old pirate any better than yeh already do," he said, seemingly only half in jest.

I embraced him tightly for a long moment until he finally whispered in my ear, and I could hear the sly tone he used as I realized he was untying the back of my dress. "Speakin' of gettin' to know one another better, Miss Gray..."

--

**A/N:** You'll recall that earlier in the story, when May meets Jack the monkey for the first time, she comments that the crew had not been able to find where Barbossa's fuzzy undead companion had hidden his coin, which apparently Jack Sparrow finds while in the brig.


	31. Chapter 31

Thanks to Jen Burton for the lovely but anonymous reviews! :)

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**Chapter Thirty-One ~*~**

--

_"My apologies, May," he said quietly, "if I don't always know what it is ye expect of me."_

_"I expect you to be yourself," I said tenderly. "The rest we'll figure out as we go...we're still getting to know each other to a large extent, really."_

_"Aye, and 'tis still amazin' to me that ye'd be inclined to want to know this old pirate any better than yeh already do," he said, seemingly only half in jest._

_I embraced him tightly for a long moment until he finally whispered in my ear, and I could hear the sly tone he used as I realized he was untying the back of my dress. "Speakin' of gettin' to know one another better, Miss Gray..."_

_--_

I had been up long enough ahead of Barbossa to freshen up and get dressed, and returned to where I'd left him sleeping, with a large mug of black coffee. He was awake when I sat on the edge of the bed and sat up and took the coffee from me with a word of thanks.

"Please tell me," he said, after having a sip of coffee, "that this be all still a bad dream, and that Jack Sparrow is not in command of me lovely _Pearl_ today."

I smiled sympathetically at him. "I wish I could," I said, still feeling a bit guilty about not knowing the pirate would be able to escape by picking the lock with a fork.

He must have seen the look on my face and leaned in close to whisper. "I still blame you, lovely wench though ye may be," he said teasingly, nuzzling into my neck a little.

"I promise I shall continue to do my best to make it up to you," I said back, causing him to grin at what I'd been implying.

Any further flirting on either of our parts was stifled by sudden muffled shouting that was coming from up on deck, which was closely followed by a gunshot.

"_Sparrow_," Barbossa snarled, handing me his coffee and quickly throwing on clothes. He shrugged into his frockcoat on the way out the door, and I hurried after him and handed him his hat, which he jammed on his head on the way up the companionway stairs as I followed.

When we made it topside, it became apparent that the commotion, which was punctuated by another gunshot at that very moment, was being caused by Jack. Both of them.

"Bloody monkey!" Jack swore vehemently, grabbing another pistol from the belt of a nearby pirate. He took aim at a spot up in the rigging and pulled the trigger, causing everyone's gaze to turn upward.

There, up well beyond the main topmast, was Jack the monkey, screeching simian obscenities back and waving Jack's hat around in agitation.

"Do something about that, would you?" Sparrow demanded of Barbossa. "The decaying little pilferer took my hat again."

Barbossa gave Jack a look of disdain and then called up to the rigging. "Jack! Bring it here, boy. C'mon, Jack!"

Jack could not have looked more disinclined to cooperate, and instead, jammed the hat into a bit of rigging and quickly scurried down the mast to jump immediately to Barbossa's shoulder. From there he continued to chitter agitatedly at Jack, and threw in a screech at me for standing too close for good measure.

Barbossa merely shrugged. "Appears he's not in the mood to cooperate," he said simply.

"Cooperate? Cooperate?" Jack demanded, aggravated and grabbing up a belaying pin. "Then beat the bloody thing senseless!"

Gibbs tried to step in and be the voice of reason. "Now, Jack...yeh know that don't do no good."

"Does me a world of good," Jack growled back, glancing up once more at where his hat had been stuck.

"Looks as if ye'll be gettin' it down yerself, _Cap'n_," Barbossa said with equal measures of amusement and derision.

Jack shot him another dirty look that quickly evolved into a thoughtful expression, and then to one of utter glee.

"_Mister_ Barbossa," he said brightly, clearly delighting in pointing out that the other pirate had been demoted, at least for the day, "seeing as how it was your...erm..._thing's_ doing," he said, wrinkling his nose in a look of disgust at the capuchin, who quite frankly appeared to regard the larger Jack in the same manner. "It shall be your responsibility to see to it that my hat is retrieved and returned."

I could see the storm gathering behind the steel blue gaze, and I feared that things were about to get dangerous. "Surely ye jest," Barbossa replied caustically, drawing himself up to his full height and folding his arms across his chest.

"Do I look like I'm joking, mate?" Jack asked, clearly appearing as if he wasn't.

By that point a large number of the crew had gathered to witness the confrontation between the two captains, and I stood there flanked by Turk and Cisco Rabara as I watched to see Barbossa's reaction.

"Do I need to make it an order, Mister Barbossa?" Jack asked, clearly enjoying himself and issuing a challenge.

Rabara leaned closer to whisper to me. "Is this typical of English pirate ships?" he asked.

"Believe me, nothin' is typical aboard this friggin' ship, Cisco," Turk whispered back as I shot him a look that said I apparently agreed.

Barbossa stared Jack down a moment longer, and then I could tell by the way he set his jaw firmly that he had decided on a course of action. Unfolding his arms, he removed his sword and hat and handed them to Turk.

"Hold these," was all he said, and then he shrugged out of his coat and handed it, and then his waistcoat to me. He turned toward one of the mainmast's shrouds, and I grabbed Turk's arm in alarm.

"He's not really going all the way up there, is he?" I asked. I recall vividly just how far it seemed at that moment to where the monkey had stashed Jack's hat, and reflexive fear for Barbossa's safety flooded my veins.

"'Course he is," Turk said proudly. "Not like he hasn't done it a million times before, darlin'."

Of course, Turk was right, and I realized that I'd just never had the occasion to witness Barbossa do such a thing, as there wasn't often cause for the captain of a ship to find himself climbing up the rigging.

"Why does he do this?" Rabara asked, watching where Barbossa had hauled himself handily into the shroud. "I would not submit to such orders if this were my ship." He said it in a manner that wasn't necessarily arrogant, but suggested that Barbossa should not have acquiesced.

"That's because you ain't him," Turk said rather defensively. "He's made an agreement with Sparrow, and he intends to show him he'll carry out his side to the letter, even if it means taking orders on the off days.

"Takes more to follow that order than to disregard it, if yeh ask me," he added admiringly, as he and I watched Barbossa gaining altitude rapidly.

I have to admit that I was inclined to agree with Turk and not Rabara, and I watched appreciatively as he made it to where the hat was without so much as a single misstep.

"May," Turk said, but I was too preoccupied to notice. "May, darlin'," he repeated, finally getting my attention, and I followed his gaze down to his arm where I was gripping it white knuckled. "Could yeh retract yer claws just a bit?" he said, wincing at how I'd inadvertently dug my nails into his skin while watching Barbossa in the rigging.

"Sorry," I said a bit sheepishly, and I pried my fingers off his wrist.

Barbossa had retrieved the hat and placed it on his own head to leave both hands free for the climb down, which he accomplished rapidly, making the descent look easy. When he was a few feet from the base of the shroud, he hopped down nimbly to the deck, and strode across to Jack. He reached up and took the hat off his head and gave it an appraising look. "_Huh_," he snorted derisively at it, and tossed it the last few feet to Sparrow.

"Here yeh go, Cap'n," Turk said to Barbossa, and handed him his beloved plumed hat, which he made a bit of a show of placing back on his head. "Yeh did fine showin' that blasted Sparrow a thing or two."

"Sparrow?" Barbossa asked, as if he could care less, but just loud enough for Jack to hear. "That had naught to do with Sparrow, Master Turk," he said, sounding somewhat cocky, "yeh know I just couldn't resist the chance to show off in front of such a lovely lass." The next thing I knew he had swept an arm around my waist and drawn me into a brief but deep kiss, and when he released me, he gave me a wink and then made his exit from the deck.

Turk grinned at me, and I noticed even Gibbs was nodding appreciatively at Barbossa's sense of style from a few feet away.

"What are you smirking at?" Jack said, smacking Gibbs with his hat in the gut and then jamming it on his head. "All of you fly-bitten maggots back to work!" he barked, sending the gathered crew scurrying across the ship.

Gibbs hurried off after some of the crew, and Turk, who was still smirking, followed also, and I was left alone with Jack for a moment. Deciding at that point to put forth my own show of solidarity with my paramour, I gave Sparrow the most disdainful look I could manage, and turned and walked away.

--

By the time I made it down to where Barbossa had gone below decks, I found him doubled over, leaning heavily on a railing of the companionway. Fear that something was seriously amiss gripped my heart, and I hurried down the last few steps to his side.

"Hector!" I cried, going to him immediately to check to see if his pulses were steady.

"Hush, girl!" he snapped, looking up to see if anyone was about, and appearing thankful that there wasn't.

"What's wrong?" I asked more quietly, placing my hand on his arm with great concern.

He glanced up at me and winced. "Me back'll not likely ever be the same after that climb, lass," he said, apparently a bit sheepish and reluctant.

When what he was trying to say dawned on me, I gave him a look that said I thought he was a fool. "Hector, at your age you shouldn't be doing things like that," my inner clinician scolded him, before I could keep her from doing so.

Barbossa gave me a look that was pained for both physical and emotional reasons. "My age," he began caustically, "has naught to do with it, Doctor; it be more from me old injuries is all."

"Either way," I said, watching as he winced in pain as he straightened up stiffly.

"Not _either way_," he growled, apparently irritated with my comment, "'tis from injury that's vexed me fer years, an' nothin' more."

I conceded the point to pacify him, knowing he was mostly right. Despite the fact that Barbossa was a dozen years senior to myself and had experienced some devastating injury in his day, he appeared to have the constitution of a lion. Knowing him as well as I did by then, I also knew that he persevered through constant ache through sheer force of will and stubborn determination. Having spent so much time recently with him in an intimate and private setting, away from the scrutiny of his crew, it was fairly often that I'd found him moving more slowly and stiffly than he did out on deck, especially first thing in the morning.

I waited for him to grit his teeth and let the excruciating spasms in his back pass, and when he had re-mastered the pain that had receded to familiar constant aches, he gave me a wry smile.

"There," he said, reaching out and touching my cheek tenderly. "Ye know well that neither age nor injury has done aught to inhibit me doing as I please, do ye not?" The way he whispered the words as he moved closer, trapping me against the railing of the companionway, told me precisely what he was insinuating, and I'm afraid that I giggled a bit girlishly at his flirting.

He pressed up against me and slid a hand behind my head to hold me gently where I was. "Would ye say that be true, minha rosa?" he asked, leaning closer.

"Aye," I whispered back, tipping my head back a little to make it easier for him to kiss me.

I still had my arms wrapped around his neck, preoccupied with the passionate embrace I was sharing with him on the stairs, when someone pointedly cleared their throat to let us know we were obstructing the companionway.

"Could yeh keep yer hands off the poor girl fer jus' a few minutes?" Turk asked, grinning at us from a few stairs above. "Yeh're blockin' my way, if yeh could manage to peel yerselves apart long enough to let a busy sailor by."

"We'd best be off, lass," Barbossa said smartly in return. "There be hardly enough room fer the great bloody ox as 'tis, without us bein' in the way."

The two of them smirked at one another as Turk passed by and then winked at me where I was trying to recover from the blush that had risen in my cheeks at having been caught kissing Barbossa rather enthusiastically again.

--

The _Black Pearl_ made her way along a heading that was known only to Jack Sparrow for the rest of the day. As sundown approached, Barbossa thought it best to find out where we were headed, but decided it would be prudent, after the morning's hat incident, that he not confront Jack face to face. He asked if I would be good enough to act as a go-between, and I found myself climbing the stairs to the helm, where Jack was standing with one hand on the ship's wheel, and one holding the compass he occasionally seemed to be consulting.

"Good afternoon," I said, trying to keep my manner pleasant and neutral.

Jack glanced at me briefly and then back out at the horizon. "Well, if it isn't Gwenevere, favorite wench of the mutineering old ship thief himself."

I was able to bite back any sharp retort after so many years of practice doing so, and I daresay I did a proper job of keeping my voice neutral. "I'm his _only_ wench," I said, trying to lighten things up a bit.

Jack glanced at me again and his expression appeared slightly less closed and defensive. "I suppose that's true, love," he said. "After all, it's not every day that one encounters a lady of proper pedigree and elite education that finds herself smitten with a black hearted scoundrel." He smiled roguishly for a moment before looking back out to sea. "Although I 'ave heard of it happening once or twice."

My intuition led me to read something more into his comment than there appeared at first glance, and I grabbed at the absurd notion, realizing it was no more far-fetched than my own situation.

"You mean Elizabeth," I said softly.

"Wot?" he asked, his voice jumping up an octave higher than usual. "Elizabeth who? What ever are you talking about?"

Jack's voice had crawled back down to a more typical smooth dark rumble by the end of his sentence, but it was too late for him to hide the note of surprise that had sprung into his first question.

"Elizabeth Turner," I said, "née Swann. I believe you know of whom I speak, Captain Sparrow?"

Jack nodded firmly. "Of course I do. You know that...know her and the whelp better than most you might even say."

I watched Jack's expression carefully when I spoke again, not convinced yet that I wasn't on to something. "She's a lady of _proper pedigree_ and _elite education_, wouldn't you say?"

A flicker of suspicion rose and fell in Jack's eyes and then he gave me a sly look that chased it instantly away. "She's a bloody scoundrel and a good pirate," he growled pleasantly, brushing my comment off.

"Which would only add to her appeal for some, I suppose?" I said, my eyes never leaving Jack's face.

Jack's eyes never left the setting sun on the horizon, and I got the impression that he didn't dare meet mine. "Is there some actual point to you venturing up here to the helm, Doctor Gray, or did you merely come to make inane small talk?"

"He sent me to find out our heading before the sun sets," I said at last with a sigh.

Jack's arrogant side reared its head again at that moment. "Afraid I'll order him to swab the deck if he comes himself?"

"There's not much he's afraid of, Jack," I said, defending my pirate, "and he asked me to come instead to try to lessen any possibility of more conflict."

"I see," Jack said evenly. "Wisdom gathered through the ages, ay, Maddie?"

I bit my tongue again at another swipe of his at Barbossa. "Wisdom gathered through having to deal with you so much, I imagine, Jack," I said as neutrally as I could manage.

Jack laughed a little. "Alright then, fair enough," he said pleasantly. "Seeing as how you have done your best to honorably represent your roguish Romeo, I shall endeavor to be as cooperative as I can until the end of our accord."

"So, you'll give me the heading?" I asked.

"Much more better than the mere heading, darling," he said, and then he handed me the compass he'd been using.

I stared at it for a moment, not understanding.

"Barbossa will know what to do with it," Jack said softly. "Trust me."

"I'll give him the compass at least," I said, teasing just a little but getting my point across that I in no way entirely trusted him.

Jack looked past my shoulder then, and I turned to find Barbossa on the stairs, accompanied by Turk, Pintel, and Ragetti.

"Sundown," he growled at Jack.

Jack glanced at where the sun was disappearing beneath the distant waves. "So it is," he replied. "I shall leave the _Pearl_ and the good doctor in your hands then, Hector," he said, obviously slipping an innuendo into his comment. "If anyone needs or wants ol' Jack, I shall be in my cabin."

With that he headed for the stair, apparently to go and take up residence in the small cabin that I had been making use of, and that Barbossa and I had shared the night before, but before he could get to the top stair, Barbossa had stepped into his path.

"Not so fast, Jack," he said, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Did ye think I'd let slide so easily yer little _stunt_ of this mornin'?"

"You," Jack said, speaking as he tried to sidle around Barbossa, "did an admirable job of following orders, and I commend you for adhering so thoroughly to our gentlemen's agreement."

Barbossa made an exaggerated show of looking thoughtful. "Was it not you who said that I wasn't capable of a _gentleman's agreement_, Jack?"

"Was that me?" Jack asked, clearly knowing that Barbossa was about to make his point in way that was going to be less than pleasing to him. "I think you must be confused, Hector."

"I think not," Barbossa said, fastening one of those intimidating blue stares on Jack.

"Fine then," Jack said, apparently conceding the point he knew he couldn't win. "Give me whatever order you deem would be _apropos, _Captain."

Barbossa stared Jack down for just another moment and then spoke. "Take him to the brig."

"What?" Jack asked, suddenly looking none too happy. "The captain of the ship does not belong sleeping in the brig!"

"Aye, that be true, Jack," Barbossa replied with a self-satisfied smirk, "but as of this moment ye'd be not but a common scallywag aboard my ship."

Jack took on a wounded air. "I resent that. Never was there a more uncommon scallywag than Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Yes, well apparently uncommon scallywags sleep in the brig also," Barbossa replied, "unless yer not man enough to follow orders, Sparrow."

Jack met Barbossa's challenging stare for a moment, and then doffed his hat in a mocking bow. "Whatever you command, _Captain_," he said with faux solemnity, and with that he submitted himself to be led away to the brig by Pintel and Ragetti again.

~*~

**A/N:** Don't forget to check out the stories of **Begun by Blood**, the second collaboration of the writers at a Magnificent Garden Party and the Broken Compass forum. Each chapter is a take on how one or more of the lost Aztec coins were found by the crew of the _Black Pearl_. :D


	32. Chapter 32

A bit of a fluffy chapter, in a piratey way, of course. :)

--

**Chapter Thirty-Two ~*~**

--

_Fine then," Jack said, apparently conceding the point he knew he couldn't win. "Give me whatever order you deem would be apropos, Captain." _

_Barbossa stared Jack down for just another moment and then spoke. "Take him to the brig."_

_"What?" Jack asked, suddenly looking none too happy. "The captain of the ship does not belong sleeping in the brig!"_

_"Aye, that be true, Jack," Barbossa replied with a self-satisfied smirk, "but as of this moment ye'd be not but a common scallywag aboard my ship."_

_Jack took on a wounded air. "I resent that. Never was there a more uncommon scallywag than Captain Jack Sparrow."_

_"Yes, well apparently uncommon scallywags sleep in the brig also," Barbossa replied, "unless yer not man enough to follow orders, Sparrow."_

_Jack met Barbossa's challenging stare for a moment, and then doffed his hat in a mocking bow. "Whatever you command, Captain," he said with faux solemnity, and with that he submitted himself to be led away to the brig by Pintel and Ragetti again._

--

Barbossa wore a self-satisfied smirk as Jack was once again carted off to the brig of the _Black Pearl_, until he saw the look on my face. "What?" he demanded.

"You realize that he's going to retaliate again tomorrow at sundown?" I asked.

"Aye, but I think I be one step ahead of him, lass," he assured me.

"I hope so," I said with a sigh. I didn't want to look like I lacked faith in him, but I was also concerned that their attempts at one-upmanship were going to end up involving me in an unpleasant way again at some point.

"Did he give you the headin'?" Barbossa asked.

"Oh." I had forgotten that I was holding the compass that Jack had handed me before he'd been dragged below again, and I held it out to Barbossa. "He said you'd know what to do with this."

"Ah," he said, taking the ornate little box from me, "that I do." He contemplated the compass for a long moment while I waited.

"I assume you could have used your own compass if he had just given you the heading," I said. "Why did he want you to use his?"

"This compass be one that Sparrow bartered from Calypso herself, durin' the time she was in human form as Tia Dalma," he began. "It points not to North, but to the thing ye desire most, I've come to learn."

I might have though such a fanciful claim absurd at a point somewhere earlier in my life, but after hearing what Barbossa had been through himself in dealing with the goddess, I knew better than to doubt his words.

"What does one trade for such a valuable tool?" I mused out loud.

"'Tis best ye not have that answer, I'll wager," he said meaningfully.

"Oh." I decided I could live without it. "So, this should point you in the direction of the place where Jack stashed the maps before heading back to Port Calais?"

"Aye, lass. As ambitious as Sparrow was, he's smart enough to know that it were a fool's errand to travel any great distance in the dinghy he'd stolen. He'd gone to Port Calais to see about findin' a small crew and likely to steal himself a ship."

"I see," I replied, seeing how things fit together now. "Well, then, shall we double check our heading?" I admit I was entirely curious about seeing the compass work.

"Arrr, that we should, lass," Barbossa said with a self-satisfied smirk as he flipped open the lid to the compass. "We presently be headin' west – the compass should confirm -"

"What?" I asked, seeing the puzzled frown that crossed his countenance. When he didn't answer, I glanced down at the compass, which was pointing due north.

"That makes no sense," he grumbled. "Why would Sparrow set us on a course west, if the maps lay north?" In a feeble attempt to see if the compass had been mistaken, he turned about, facing away from me to see if the heading changed. To his great consternation, the needle swung back to point over his should and past mine where I stood behind him, to indicate north again. "Blast and bugger me!" he swore. "'Tis some trick of Sparrow's," he said, turning back to face me, and looking none too pleased.

"Perhaps this isn't the same compass?" I asked, trying to be helpful.

"Nay, it be the same one. I've seen it enough to know that much," he replied, still obviously vexed by the dilemma.

I knew we had a problem, and I paced a little as I thought things over also. It was going to be up to Barbossa to decide whether to continue to sail on our current heading, assuming that it was the correct one, or if he should sail north, and follow what the compass said was the right heading. "You could ask Jack what this means," I suggested.

"No!" Barbossa snarled, his head snapping in my direction. "He'll try to use the information to leverage something else to his benefit into our accord."

While Barbossa's speculation was most likely accurate, I was sure that it would also be a small blow to his ego to have to break down and ask Jack for help with the situation.

"Bah! This makes no sense!" he snarled in frustration again, and then glanced back at the compass. When I saw the look of mild surprise on his face, I hurried back to look at it myself. It was pointing over my shoulder and due East.

"Why did it do that?" I asked. "Surely we couldn't have passed the spot where he stashed the maps in that short amount of time?"

Barbossa seemed to be contemplating something where he stood with his brow furrowed and the compass in hand. A sudden realization of some sort seemed to fall upon him, and he let out a small groan and rolled his eyes. I waited patiently for him to share what he'd figured out.

"Madeline," he said softly, as if he were trying to be infinitely patient, "step back around to where ye were standin' a moment ago."

I'm sure I looked perplexed at his request, but I followed his instructions and then looked back at the compass when he nodded at it for me to see what it was doing. The needle pointed due North.

Still puzzled, I stared at the compass a moment longer, and then what was happening dawned on me. I have to admit that I wasn't at all opposed to the notion that Barbossa wanted me more than the maps in question, and irrationally please by the compass's revelation, I smiled at him and found I couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease him.

"That's very sweet, Hector," I said, placing a hand on his arm affectionately.

He rolled his eyes at me again. "Yes, that may be so, but it still leave us with a bit of a problem, now doesn't it, lass?" he asked sarcastically, but there was no real bite in his comment.

"We don't know the actual heading now," I supplied, understanding what he meant.

"He knew," Barbossa snarled under his breath. "The sly bastard gambled the compass would point to you, and that we'd not be able to make progress on my day as captain." He began to pace, as was his wont when deep in thought or agitated. I suspect at that moment he was both. "We must be close, lass, if he wanted to be sure we didn't get there on my day...well, fine then. I'll bide me time if that be what it takes."

He gave the orders that would halt the _Pearl's_ progress and for her to lay to and drop anchor. I remember thinking that Jack, despite the fact that he was locked up once more, probably was smirking to himself in the brig when he felt the ship slow, knowing that Barbossa had figured out what he'd already surmised.

Barbossa sighed as the crew dropped anchor. "He's mistaken if he thinks I'm not patient enough to wait this out; ten years of searchin' for Aztec gold tends to teach one a bit of patience," he said wryly.

"I suppose that's very true," I said softly.

"Here," he said, handing me the compass. "Take it back to Jack. I've no use fer it."

"Alright," I began, but I got no further than that one word as he stepped very near and glanced down at the compass in my hands. We both stared at it for a long moment in silence, each of us knowing what was coming next.

"Open it," he said very softly, trailing the back of his fingers lightly once across my cheek.

I felt a moment of sudden panic when I realized the implications inherent in opening the small box that lay in my palm. "Do you really need me to?" I asked in an unsteady hushed voice.

"'Twould be best if ye knew fer sure," he said in barely more than a whisper. I still wasn't convinced that he thought opening it was only for my benefit. I met his clear blue gaze for a moment and then he nodded once. "Open it," he ordered me again, very softly.

I returned my gaze to the compass, and let out the breath I hadn't realized I been holding. I took another deep one as I reached for the cover. Some small part of me was in a panic, fearing that the needle would swing east toward Port Royal, but I was able to crush that notion at last, knowing that my decision had been made. Jonathan would have been the easy and safe answer, but not necessarily the truth. The man standing before me, despite the fact that he was complicating my life ever so much, was the answer the compass would confirm for me; I _knew_ it.

I think Barbossa tensed just a little when I flipped the lid open, as possibly I did, but the needle didn't even waver, and was already pointing due south, directly at my pirate. When I looked up, his eyes were on my face and not the compass. "Is it pointin' at me?" he asked, and I realized he hadn't looked himself.

"Of course," I replied softly.

"Feel better?" he asked gently, glancing once briefly down at the needle's indication.

I nodded. "And do you?"

He shrugged. "I'm not the one as needed to look, lass. I knew where she'd be a-pointin'," he said, charming arrogance infusing his words.

I couldn't help but smile. "Is that right?" I asked.

"Aye, ye can't resist me and yeh know it," he replied, reaching out to tip up my chin and press his lips against mine.

I admit I was more than a little surprised that he would kiss me that way so openly on the quarterdeck, but not necessarily opposed to the idea.

He broke off the kiss gently and stepped away to call down to Cotton on the deck below, ordering him to take over at the helm, and then he drew near again while we waited for the mute pirate to ascend the stairs. "Seein' as how we'll not be makin' much progress tonight on our voyage," he said softly near my ear, "methinks 'twould be best that we take advantage of bein' in possession of the captain's cabin...and the captain's bed, fer now."

I smiled up at him, nodding in agreement as I took the arm he offered me and walked past Cotton down the stairs.

--

Sometime later I was curled up against Barbossa's shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep contentedly in his arms and listening to the slow, deep, shuddering creak of the _Pearl_. I found it interesting that while the basic noises the wood of the ship made as she shifted on the tide were the same, the pitch and timbre were slightly different that those of the _Rogue Wave_. Those had echoed through my memories and dreams for over ten years, and I knew them as well as if I had sailed her all that time.

"She sounds different," I murmured sleepily into his neck.

"Aye," he replied quietly, understanding instinctively what I meant. "Each ship has her own voice, lass. There's a lot she'll say to those as would care to listen."

"And do you listen carefully to what she says?" I asked, shifting to drape a knee over his and snuggling closer.

He paused noticeably for a moment. "'Tis the _Pearl_ we'd be speakin' of, aye?" he asked, sounding somewhat cautious.

I laughed a little and reached up and tugged playfully on a strand of his graying auburn hair that was tangled with my blonde tresses under our heads. "Of course. What did you think I was speaking of?"

I couldn't see his exact expression from where I was nestled, but I could hear the slightest frown in his words. "Ye might never know exactly when speakin' with a woman...'tis best to be on yer guard," he said.

I laughed. "If men would pay more attention to what we were saying in the first place, they wouldn't get themselves into so much hot water when they get caught not paying attention to what we have to say," I scolded him playfully. "You do realize that some of what we have to say is actually important?"

"Huh?" he asked me distractedly, causing my mouth to fall open indignantly. I realized about the same time he started chuckling softly that he'd been making a jest by feigning ignorance of what I'd said.

"You're not funny," I admonished him, trying not to giggle and attacking him in retaliation. I maintain that Barbossa is the least ticklish person I have ever met, or he has a will of iron that allows him to resist until I give up. I will admit that it makes things a bit lopsided and much to his advantage.

"Ye continue to say that, yet 'tis usually while yer laughin'," he said, making a great show of sighing and trying to be patient while I dug my fingers into his ribs, still trying to elicit a laugh from him. "Are ye done with that futility?"

Frustrated that I'd been trying to get a response for over a minute, and hadn't succeeded in getting him to even flinch the slightest bit, I gave up where I was leaning over him. "Fine," I pouted.

"Let me show ye how this best works," he said softly, but I wasn't fast enough to move from his reach, and I suddenly found myself pulled down on top of him while he trapped me there and set to torturing me again.

I know he was laughing softly at me, but my cries and tormented laughter drowned him out as I writhed and struggled to free myself from his strong fingers once more, screaming lightly once or twice, to his amusement.

"Stop!" I gasped desperately, trying to pull away his hands.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked. "The way yer wriggling against me be quite interestin', and I find meself disinclined to put a stop to it."

I know I blushed despite the fact that I was still giggling. He did, however, show some mercy at that point, and ceased his playful torture, instead wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling down against him harder while the other drew my face down to his for a deep kiss.

"'Tis intoxicatin' to have you breathless atop me like that," he whispered next to my ear when he released me from the kiss, causing my heart to skip a beat. "'Tis also intoxicatin'," he went on, rolling us gently together to reverse our positions and fastening that endless blue stare on me as I gazed up at him, "to have ye breathless underneath me."

"Is it?" I whispered back, knowing where things were apparently headed again at that moment.

"Oh, _aye_," he said, leaning down near my ear, his voice a gravelly but soft rumble. He began kissing my neck and speaking between kisses. "When ye'd be breathless..._helpless..._yielding...surrendering...ye are surrendering are ye not?" he breathed in my ear.

"Aye," I whispered back with my eyes closed. I'd had no intentions of refusing him, and even if I'd had the slightest inclination to resist, he was most effectively ensuring that my inclinations were in another direction.

"'Tis best yer inclined to yield," he whispered, "otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?" I sighed, melting under the attention he was bestowing upon me.

"Otherwise," he continued, "things may have gotten a little _insistent_."

"Insistent?" I asked, suddenly a little concerned, yet unavoidably curious.

Barbossa said nothing, but in way of a reply, he suddenly grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of my head. I gasped in surprise, and I'm sure my eyes had widened in alarm.

He chuckled, but seeing that he had frightened me just a little, quickly let go and enveloped me in a gentler embrace. "Shhh, easy, lass," he said reassuringly. "Mayhap we'll leave that be fer now."

"For now?" I whispered, still concerned despite the gentle caresses he was beginning to administer.

"Shhh, softly now," he whispered, and he kissed me and embraced me with all the tenderness that I alone was privileged to see from Barbossa.

--

I fought against sleep, still wishing to savor my evening with my pirate captain as I stroked his hair where his head rested upon my shoulder. I knew the next night was going to bring an entirely different set of circumstances if Jack had anything to say about it at sundown, and I was sure he would.

"You realize you'll be spending tomorrow night in the brig," I said softly.

"Aye," he said back, a bit sleepy after our lovemaking, "that I do, lass."

I suddenly could feel him laughing a little and I asked him why.

"I was thinking ye could join me," he said slyly.

"No, thank you," I said back quickly. "I've spent my share of time in the brig, thanks to _you_."

"Ah, but ye'd find it so much more amusin' to be behind bars _with_ me," he said, sounding less drowsy.

"Surely you're not implying..."

"Surely I am," he said back evenly.

"Hector! Behind bars? In the brig?" I couldn't help that as open minded as I tried to be, that he still often managed to shock me, much to his delight, I'm sure.

Amused, he propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at me. "Ye never know unless yeh..."

"Certainly not!" I said. Despite the fact that I was gradually becoming less inhibited in my intimacies with Barbossa, I was still far from considering a passionate tryst in the brig of a pirate ship.

Barbossa merely gave me a sly look and then pulled me closer as he lay back down next to me. "We'll see 'bout that, if I have aught to say," he said softly, still chuckling to himself.

"You're incorrigible," I sighed, settling myself against him.

"There ye go, usin' fancy words again," he scolded me lightly.

"Don't even give me that humble pirate nonsense," I chided him in return. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

"I'm merely a simple man, tryin' to tend to his simple needs," Barbossa replied. His eyes were closed as he lay next to me, but I could tell he was trying not to smirk.

"You're a randy old rogue and a scheming, manipulative scoundrel," I whispered in affectionate remonstration.

"Why thankee, m'dear. A long time it's been since I've had a woman sweet talk me that way," he replied, unable to fight the smirk that was crossing his lips.

I huffed lightly at him.

"Perhaps in the brig I can get ye to move on to whisperin' things yet a bit more indecent," he said, and I could tell by the way he opened one eye to peak at my expression that he was trying to get a reaction out of me.

He was successful, and my mouth surely dropped open a little as I realized that not only was he persisting in his pursuit of getting me to acquiesce to rollicking uninhibitedly in the brig of a pirate ship with him, he was implying that he might prefer said encounter to include some unseemly and less-than-sweet-nothings whispered on my part.

"You," I said, once I had recovered myself from the effects of his audacity once again, "are a monster."

"'Tis why ye love me so," he replied smoothly, closing both eyes again, "and a good thing at that, since ye'd be stuck with me fer good now."

"For good?" I asked, trying to suppress a yawn.

"Aye, fer good," he said softly, and his tone seemed to take on a more serious manner.

I smiled and stroked his cheek, getting him to open his eyes briefly. "Thank God," I said affectionately, meeting his deep blue gaze.

"Thank _goddess_," he corrected me, and closed his eyes once more, content to hold me close before drifting off.

"Aye, that be true," I teased him one last time, and I planted a small kiss on the small scar over his heart, and lay back to fall asleep in his arms.

--

**A/N:** For those of you who are interested, my chapter (#10) of **Begun by Blood**, under _A Magnificent Garden Party_, has been posted.

And be sure to stop by the new ffnet PotC forum _The Black Pearl_, and say hello! We're a friendly group over there! :D


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three ~*~**

--

_"You," I said, once I had recovered myself from the effects of his audacity once again, "are a monster."_

_"'Tis why ye love me so," he replied smoothly, closing both eyes again, "and a good thing at that, since ye'd be stuck with me fer good now."_

_"For good?" I asked, trying to suppress a yawn._

_"Aye, fer good," he said softly, and his tone seemed to take on a more serious manner._

_I smiled and stroked his cheek, getting him to open his eyes briefly. "Thank God," I said affectionately, meeting his deep blue gaze._

_"Thank goddess," he corrected me, and closed his eyes once more, content to hold me close before drifting off._

_"Aye, that be true," I teased him one last time, and I planted a small kiss on the small scar over his heart, and lay back to fall asleep in his arms._

_--_

The next day dawned clear and bright, and despite the fact that I felt just the tiniest bit seasick as the _Pear_l rocked gently at her moorings, I was in fairly good spirits.

Barbossa's mood started off ebullient, probably from the combination of catching Jack off guard and locking him up in the brig, and the evening he'd spent intimately engaged with me, but as the day wore on it became apparent that his mood was darkening, and it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out why.

"My offer still stands," Turk reminded him, standing up from where he'd been seated across the table in the cabin from Barbossa and myself. It was nearly sundown, and Turk knew as well as Barbossa and I did that our captain was going to find himself alone behind bars in the next few moments.

I'm sure the thought of Turk heaving Jack overboard into the Caribbean seemed entirely appealing to Barbossa, but he was determined to persevere and outlast Sparrow. He never got a chance to say anything, as at that moment a knock came on the cabin door, and Jack yanked it open, not waiting for permission, and entered, flanked by Gibbs, Marty and Cotton.

Turk gave Jack a long icy look in passing and left the cabin.

"I think he's warming up to me," Jack said with a grin, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder at where Turk had gone.

"Aye, he's almost as fond of you as I be, Jack," Barbossa replied with little mirth in his statement.

"I assure you the feeling is mutual," Jack said, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "especially after that stunt you pulled at sundown."

"'Tis the captain's prerogative to do as he sees fit, Jack," Barbossa replied indifferently with a shrug.

"Yes, well as _captain_," Jack said meaningfully, indicating that the sun had set, "I must say even the brig isn't fitting for you, Barbossa, but it'll have to do." He glanced at the three pirates who had accompanied him, and although they were all clearly on Jack's side of the captaincy issue, it was clear that none of them were inclined to escort Barbossa to the brig when he stood up from the table.

"Well, go on, _someone_ lock him up," Jack said insistently. He shooed Marty and Cotton in Barbossa's direction.

Barbossa, already resigned to the fact that he was going to spend the evening in the brig, simply rolled his eyes at the diminutive pirate and the mute, and after shooting Jack a poisonous look, strode out of the cabin.

I stood and turned to follow, but Jack's hand on my wrist stopped me from going.

"Not so fast, darling," he said with mischief in his eyes.

I glanced down coldly at where his fingers held my arm, and he let go, although not because I intimidated him in any way I am sure. "Someone has to see to making sure the captain is properly fed," he said, going to drape himself casually across the chair that Barbossa had just vacated.

"That would be Hamlyn," I said, knowing that it was my off night now that the ornery cook was once again free from the brig. "We alternate days, and today is his day on galley duty. You'll just have to make do with whatever it is he concocts." I turned once again to leave but didn't get much further.

"Oh, no, that's where you're misinformed," he said, boldly taking an apple from the bowl on the table and contemplating it thoughtfully for a moment before taking a large bite. "That arrangement has been altered," he said with his mouth full.

"Altered?" I asked, not liking where things were headed.

"Aye, Doctor, you've been promoted to full time galley wench, courtesy of the current captain of the _Black Pearl_," Jack said, clearly savoring the look the announcement had produced on my face. He watched me carefully, looking as if he expected me to put up an argument.

Summoning all the skill I had mastered at keeping my mouth closed over the years, I managed to bite back the response I would have liked to have given Jack, and stood there silently trying to convince myself that I could endure what he dished out, if it meant supporting Barbossa's attempt at holding up their accord.

I'm sure Jack saw how unhappy I looked, and he changed tactics a little, perhaps in part because he saw no point in completely alienating me, but mostly, I suspect, due to the fact that he was starving yet disinclined to eat anything else that Hamlyn subjected the men to.

"Come now, love, what good does it do any of us to unleash that man on me crew? Surely it's your responsibility as ship's doctor to look after their health and welfare. It won't do me..._or Barbossa,_" he added quickly, "any good if they voluntarily starve themselves to death, now will it?"

"I suppose."

"Good lass," he said, sensing a victory. "Now, run along and please, _please_ bring back something edible to old Jack, will you?"

"Am I going to be allowed to take some to the brig as well?" I asked, ready to refuse if he wasn't going to allow me to do so.

Jack was leaning back in the chair and crossing one booted foot over the other on the table and taking another bite of the apple he'd stolen. He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

--

I was already rolling up my sleeves on the way to the galley, and was a bit distracted in my displeasure at the deterioration of my situation compared to the previous evening, and I didn't realize that Francisco Rabara was in my path until I nearly ran into him.

"Dios, mujer!" he said, laughing a bit as he reached out to grab me by the shoulders to keep me from plowing him down. "You appear somewhat preoccupied, Doctor Gray."

"My apologies, Mister Ra..."

"_Cisco_."

"Cisco," I corrected myself with a smile. "I was on my way to the galley and I didn't see you."

"You would see me better if you looked," he said, and I was relieved to see he looked amused and not angry when he spoke.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"There is no need to apologize again, Doctor," he said, scrutinizing my expression. "You seem to have a lot on your mind already."

I sighed. "That's true."

"This _rivalry _between the two captains is intriguing, no?" he asked, probing in the right direction.

"If you call being made to cook for fifty pirates against your will _intriguing_, then yes," I said back snidely. I could tell he knew my venom wasn't directed at him.

"I see," he said. "Well, I make you a deal. You tell me more about the rivalry...I help you in the galley."

"Why would you do that?" I asked him, thinking it odd for him to volunteer for such a job.

"The faster you finish, the faster we are all a lot less hungry, yes?" he said with a wry grin.

I understood his comment well. On the days when Hamlyn cooked, the men only ate as much as was absolutely necessary to not be completely ravenous by the next morning. I will tell you now, that for a bunch of unwashed, unlearned, undiscriminating pirates, that is saying quite something, and I found that I was hard pressed on my days to keep up with the demand for decent food from the eager crew.

On the other hand, they were beginning to see me as a very valuable commodity, and it had nothing to do so far with my medical skills.

Rabara accompanied me to the galley, and dutifully took to chopping the very large number of onions that were required for the stew I was going to make. He went about it cheerfully, prattling on like an old washwoman about his _Madre_ when he was a boy, and how, as one of the oldest children in a large family with no sisters, he had often helped her in the kitchen.

He spoke of her as any devoted son would, and kept me amused as we worked.

"So, that is why I know how to at least fetch and chop things," he finished with a chuckle as he turned to watch me work. "You learned to cook from your mother, yes?"

"A little," I said. "She died when I was very young, so mostly I learned from helpful neighbors and a lot of trial an error in cooking for my father and uncles. I pity them the first few years I took over duties in the kitchen."

Rabara laughed pleasantly. "It is a blessing that you take pity on us as well," he said, clearly meaning by relieving them from Hamlyn's cooking.

"Oh, don't make me out to be a saint just yet, Cisco," I laughed. "This was Barbossa's doing and not mine – he's the one that somehow bound me to an accord to take galley duty every other night."

"Smart man," Rabara said with a grin.

"Hmm, yes, a little too smart," I commented absently, smiling to myself.

"You think a lot of him, Madeline," Rabara said, returning to the next half dozen onions that he'd fetched.

I noticed he didn't phrase it as a question and I glanced over my shoulder at him.

He shrugged. "It is obvious," he said simply, causing me to blush before I hastily turned back around. "But you are not the only one," he quickly added, trying to lessen my discomfort and continue the conversation.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"What do I mean?" he asked, sounding a little incredulous. "Barbossa is one of the most notorious pirates in all of the seven seas, as is Jack Sparrow. They are legend among our kind. You cannot imagine what it is to sail with not one, but _both_ Pirate Lords! Aboard the _Black Pearl_, no less!"

I laughed a little at how awe-struck Rabara sounded.

"What?" he grinned, looking up from the onions. "She is the finest ship in all the Caribbean, and well beyond!"

"You sound like Barbossa and Sparrow," I said laughingly.

"I do not doubt it. This ship is fast, as fast as the wind," Rabara went on, a gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes. "Her speed and her power are fabled - she is legend, Madeline, as are those who sail her."

"Perhaps not legend enough," I sighed, causing Rabara to stop what he was doing and look my way again.

"What makes you say it like that?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's just," I started. "It's just been a little difficult - transitioning to life aboard the ship so _permanently_."

"Surely Barbossa will not stay at sea forever, now that he has you back," Rabara commented, referring to the history between myself and Barbossa that I'd made him aware of.

"At least for a while," I said, "until this quest of theirs is over, anyway."

"Of whose?"

"Jack and Barbossa," I replied with another sigh.

"This must be some quest if the two of them are in league over it," Rabara said, digging around in the bucket for a few more onions.

I glanced at Rabara, who laughed. "The fact that there is no love lost between the two is the stuff of legend also," he quipped, making me smile a little.

I rolled my eyes in agreement at the situation, and went back to my work without further comment. It was a few moments before Rabara said anything else.

"So, this quest," he began casually, "ah...is this enough?" He pointed to the very large pile of chopped onions, drawing my attention briefly away from his inquiry.

I nodded. "Would you mind fetching me water for the pots?" I asked, and he nodded and smiled, clearly willing to help see to some sort of edible food being produced as quickly as possible.

Once he'd seen that the great stew pots were filled, he began cutting a large pile of limes in half, which would be supplied to the crew at mealtime. We worked in silence for a few minutes before it occurred to me that he'd started to ask me a question earlier.

If only I knew then, what I know now - how patiently he was biding his time, hoping I would answer, I never would have said anything more on the subject.

"What was it you were asking me earlier?" I said at last, not wishing to seem rude after he'd been such a great help in the galley.

"Hmm?" he asked distractedly. "Oh, yes. I think I was asking you about this quest that our two illustrious captains are pursuing." He did an admirable job of seeming only half interested, as if he were only trying to fill the space in the galley with some sort of conversation, and how I wish now that I had recognized his performance for what it was.

"They both believe that they have a map that will lead them to the Fountain of Youth," I said casually, still not entirely convinced that either Jack or Barbossa was right about such a thing existing.

"Really." It almost wasn't a question from Rabara, and turning to see the interest that sparked in his expression, I suddenly wished I had said nothing. I knew that Barbossa had accorded this man and his crew only a small measure of confidence, and I chose to say nothing else about either the map to the fountain, or of the map of Morgan's that Barbossa sought to regain.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" I said, suddenly disliking being alone in the small space with Rabara, until a smile slowly crept across his face.

"Absolutamente," he said, throwing his head back and laughing. "I did not know that such stories were still believed."

"Still?" I asked cautiously.

"Sí, Madeline," he said, appearing quite amused. "I am surprised that such experienced pirates would give any weight to such a myth."

"You don't think it's true, then?"

"Of course not. My countrymen have tried to follow this myth for centuries, and none have ever succeeded," he said, hacking into another lime. "Ponce de Leon was after gold and glory, Doctor, and nothing more."

"I see," I said, wondering if what he said were true.

"Although, I must admit," Rabara said, gesturing at me with a lime, "I would not be opposed to searching for such a thing, were I Barbossa, if I had such a _conquistadora _by my side."

I found only the most innocent amusement in his gaze, and I suddenly found myself laughing at his flirting. "Oh yes, that certainly is me...fearsome pirate and conquering warrior." I laughed at the absurdity of the thought. "I am much more at home with a scalpel in my hand than I would ever be with a sword, and a book under my nose rather than sailing charts."

"And yet here you are," he said, giving me a charming smile.

I shrugged and smiled back.

"Speaking of scalpels, Doctor," he said, changing the subject and avoiding arousing any suspicion on my part. "I think it will be soon that Sanchez will ask for your help."

"Things are worse, then?" I asked, obviously concerned about the Spanish pirate's condition.

"Sí," he said softly, sounding genuinely concerned as well, "he suffers daily."

"There really is no need," I began adamantly. "The procedure sounds daunting, I'll admit, but surely it is better to..."

"I agree," he said, holding up a hand to quiet me. "I encourage him daily to put aside his prejudice -yes, you must know that to be the case, and to let you help him."

"I know that it is not always easy for men to let me treat them," I said with a sigh.

"If Barbossa deems you a skilled enough surgeon, as does his very large bo'sun," Rabara said seriously, "then so do I."

I knew that the story of what had befallen Turk on my last voyage, and what I had done to contribute to his survival, was well known among the crew, new and old, thanks to him standing up for me on almost a daily basis. If there were few pirates that would think to question Barbossa's judgment about having me fill the role of surgeon aboard the _Black Pearl_, there were almost as few that would question that of the intimidating Master Kempthorne.

--

When dinner had finally been readied, I first made it a point to take dinner back to the captain's cabin, mostly to ensure that I wouldn't be bothered by Jack again for anything, but also I suppose, as a small gesture to demonstrate that I was capable of following orders, if only to support Barbossa's standing in the matter. Had I thought it would benefit him more, I would have steadfastly refused to so much as chop a carrot.

Jack called for me to enter after I knocked, and smiled winningly when I entered with food that was clearly more than just edible, from where he was reading a book. It only took me a moment to recognize one of the volumes I'd left in Barbossa's cabin. It was one of the few books I'd found among the swag from the _Essex_, and I'd hoarded it along with the others, knowing they'd never be missed by the largely illiterate crew.

"That," Jack said, perking up from behind his book and his feet that were propped once again on the table, "smells good enough to raise a dead man from the Locker."

"I imagine you'd know," I said back, trying to remain good natured.

Jack grinned at me and dropped his feet to the floor, setting his book aside and drawing the food I'd placed on the table in front of him closer. I made as if to leave, but Jack protested, calling me back. "Sit a while and talk, Maddie," he said, indicating the chair I normally used. "He can spare a few minutes of your time."

I sat down, understanding that Jack was referring to the fact that I was wanting to bring dinner to my paramour, who was currently locked back in the brig. "What is it you want to talk about?" I asked flatly.

"Oh, I don't know...something...anything," Jack said, between the bites of dinner he was enthusiastically downing. "It wouldn't kill you to be a bit friendlier, would it?"

"To the man who killed my lover?" I asked casually, taking an apple from the bowl to take with me afterwards.

Jack waved me off. "Water under the bridge, dearie. Hector and I have moved on...we're about square as far as I can see it."

"I'm not entirely convinced that he sees it that way, Jack," I replied, "nor I."

Jack gave me a pointed look. "So, let's have it then," he said, gesturing at me with the spoon in his hand.

"Have what?" I asked.

"All the reasons you hate me," he replied, appearing unconcerned.

"I don't hate you, Jack," I replied quietly.

"I would," he answered in a low grumble.

"I did, for a long while, but now, well..."I frowned as I debated if I would finish revealing my thoughts.

"Yes?" he asked curiously.

"Well, now I just feel sorry for you," I replied.

Jack nearly snorted the bite of stew he'd taken back out his nose at my statement, and he laughed and coughed simultaneously for a moment, until he could compose himself enough to speak.

"And why, pray tell, Maddie, would you feel sorry for Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate Lord, notorious scoundrel, and currently," he said, glancing at the hourglass in the cabin with a smirk, "commander of the _Black Pearl_?" The way he spoke of the ship revealed just how much he thought of her, and it was the same way Barbossa, and even Rabara had spoken her name.

"You're alone," I said simply.

Jack's smile widened. "I'd hardly call sitting here in conversation with a lovely doctor, amidst a crew of fifty black hearted ruffians being alone."

"You know what I mean, Jack," I said evenly, "and you know what I say is true. No one knows better than I do what it means to wait ten years."

Jack's expression fell into one that was somewhere between a frown and a pout. "No idea what you're talking about, love." He diverted the conversation skillfully before I could say anything more about my suspicions concerning Jack's personal life.

"So, reading Ovid, are you?" he said, jerking his head at the book on the table.

"Yes."

"Enjoying it?" he asked, scraping the last of the stew from the bowl.

"To a fair degree," I answered. "I find him a nice change from Homer."

"So, it isn't just pirate captains and the study of anatomy that interests you," Jack said, clearly wording his statement carefully to elicit a blush from me, despite the seemingly innocent comment.

"No, I'd have to truthfully claim that I am fairly well-read, Captain Sparrow," I said as my blush subsided.

"Ah, that would explain this, then," he said, pushing his empty bowl out of the way and propping his feet up on the table once more as he picked up the book.

I shrugged, not really understanding what he was getting at.

"Shall I read for you?" he asked slyly. "Or would it embarrass you to share your book with me?"

I still didn't comprehend exactly where he was headed and I shrugged again. "If it amuses you."

"Oh, I think it's about to," Jack said cryptically. "Let me see...where shall I begin...ah, here's a suitable passage."

"_But the winds that filled your sails and blew offshore,_

_are no use when you're in the open sea._

_While young love's wandering, it gathers strength by use:_

_if you nourish it well, it will be strong in time."_

I listened to Jack, impressed that he translated the Latin I knew to be on the page so quickly as he read, and tried to figure out which of the transformation stories the passage was from.

"Oh, well, that's rather dull, isn't it?" Jack asked, flipping a few pages. "Let's try something else."

"Try page fifty-two," I suggested. I loved the story of Philemon and Baucis, and if I was going to have to listen to him read, I felt it might as well be something that I would enjoy.

Jack read silently to himself for a moment, and then raised an eyebrow at the pages before him. "Is this what you were reading earlier?"

I nodded. "It's one of my favorites." I missed the amused smirk that crossed my companion's face.

"Well, than I shall read it for you, milady," Jack said in reply, and cleared his throat pointedly before commencing to read again.

"_The hasty drink the new and unfermented: pour a vintage wine_

_for me, matured in the cask, from an ancient consulship._

_Not till it's grown can the plane tree bear the sun,_

_and naked feet destroy a new-laid lawn._

_I suppose you'd prefer Hermione to Helen,_

_and was Medusa any better than her mother?_

_Then, he who wants to come to his love late,_

_earns a valuable prize, if he'll only wait."_

I listened to the passage, wondering which part of the story it had come from. Only too late did I realize the author was not speaking of the famous couple from Classical mythology, but the benefits of bedding an older woman.

"What are you reading?" I demanded suspiciously.

"Page fifty-two," Jack said, giving me an innocent look that was entirely contrived before continuing.

"_See, the knowing bed receives two lovers,_

_halt, Muse, at the closed doors of the room._

_Flowing words will be said, by themselves, without you,_

_and that left hand won't lie idle on the bed."_

I'm quite sure my mouth dropped open in horror, and an intense heat rose in my cheeks. "Jack, that is not what I was reading! You're making that up!"

He smirked at me, obviously delighting in my embarrassment. "Am not," he protested. "It's right here on page fifty-two..."

"_Fingers will find what will arouse those parts,_

_where love's dart is dipped in secrecy._

_Hector did it once with vigour, for..." _

"Jack Sparrow!" I exclaimed in a horrified and hushed way as he laughed at the passage he'd chosen and my reaction to it. "That is not _Metamorphoses_!"

"Of course not." Jack's eyes glittered with amusement and he read on down the page, even as he held the book up so that I could see it was indeed Ovid, but not his famous poems of transformation. It was _Ars Amatoria_, a book I had not read but knew to be inappropriate for mixed company, and a different but matching volume to the one I had actually been reading.

"_Moans and loving murmurs will arise,_

_and sweet sighs, and playful and fitting words._

_But don't desert your mistress by cramming on more sail,_

_or let her overtake you in your race:_

_hasten to the goal together: that's the fullness of pleasure,_

_when man and woman lie there equally spent."_

"You've not read this?" he asked, looking at where I was blushing furiously with a hand clamped over my mouth.

"No."

Jack seemed to sense that he'd crossed a line of sorts, and appeared to make an effort to undo some of the offense he had committed. "You should. Most of it is quite entertaining...a tongue in cheek look at how a man might best serve a woman...and his own needs in accordance, of course, but it's really quite entertaining."

"I see," I replied, feeling the heat dissipate from my cheeks and recognizing the fact that he was trying to make amends for embarrassing me.

"Here," he said, flipping back to the first page of the book.

"_Now the first task for you who come as a raw recruit_

_is to find out who you might wish to love._

_The next task is to make sure that she likes you:_

_the third, to see to it that the love will last. _

_That's my aim, that's the ground my chariot will cover:_

_that's the post my thundering wheels will scrape."_

I admit I actually found myself smiling at the thought that the book had been composed by the ancient author as an instruction manual in the art of love.

"Not as wicked underneath as he first appears on the surface, ay?" Jack asked, closing the book and tossing it on the table once more.

"And are you speaking of Ovid, Captain Sparrow?" I asked, allowing myself to tease just a little.

Jack gave me what appeared to be a brief but genuine smile. "Perhaps." He shrugged.

"Perhaps," I echoed back, "good enough then. Ta." I smiled at him after echoing what he'd said to me in the tavern, when I hadn't known him to be a the infamous Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, and left to go to the Pirate Lord who held sway over the Caspian Sea and my heart.

~*~

**A/N:** Of course, Ovid is speaking of Hector of Troy and his wife, Andromache, but Jack obviously picks the passage to embarrass May. :D

You should go and read_ Ars Amatoria_ if you haven't. It's a hoot. Ovid gets away with so much because he says things so eloquently. I couldn't resist using some of it because of the passages with the sailing references!


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four ~*~**

**--**

_"Not as wicked underneath as he first appears on the surface, ay?" Jack asked, closing the book and tossing it on the table once more._

_"And are you speaking of Ovid, Captain Sparrow?" I asked, allowing myself to tease just a little._

_Jack gave me what appeared to be a brief but genuine smile. "Perhaps." He shrugged._

_"Perhaps," I echoed back, "good enough then. Ta." I smiled at him after echoing what he'd said to me in the tavern, when I hadn't known him to be a the infamous Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, and left to go to the Pirate Lord who held sway over the Caspian Sea and my heart._

_--_

To my own amazement, I must report that one of the tenderest moments I have spent in Hector Barbossa's company was with both of us behind bars, but I must endeavor to clarify why.

As I had known he would, Jack had put Barbossa in the brig in retaliation for having been sent there the night before.

However, Barbossa had commented to me earlier that he thought he might be one step ahead of Jack, and when I approached the bars of his cell, I could see that he had been right. Unlike Jack, who had spent the night sleeping on the damp floor of the cage, Barbossa had sent Turk to bring a cot and a lantern to the cell between the time that Jack had been released, and the time that he had been reluctantly escorted to the brig by Marty and Cotton.

He was sitting on the edge of the rough bed, a book in hand and a bottle of wine sitting on a crate that it shared with the lantern, and he glanced up at where I was standing with dinner for him.

"Ah, there ye'd be. I thought mayhap I'd been forgotten," he growled softly. He set his book aside and came to stand in front of the bars.

"If I couldn't forget you after ten years, half an hour of speaking with Jack is not likely to put you out of my mind, Hector," I scolded him lightly. I passed the food through to him, and he took it and sat back down on the edge of the bed to eat.

"'Twas half an hour that could have been spent in _my_ company," he said between bites, "but I'll let it pass, considerin' that ye were kind enough to put Hamlyn out of the galley tonight."

"Captain's orders," I said in reply.

"Huh. Never said Sparrow was stupid," he answered, grudgingly appreciative of the fact that Jack had banished Hamlyn from the galley. "What did ye speak of?"

"With Jack?"

"Aye," he said, putting down the bottle of wine he'd taken a swig from.

I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist the chance to torment Barbossa just a little, since he was being somewhat grumpy with me. "The Art of Love," I replied casually.

"What?"

I fought back a smirk at the look that crossed Barbossa's face. "Jack read to me from _Ars Amatoria_."

"Ars _what_?" he asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. I must admit feeling just a bit satisfied at what appeared to be a measure of jealousy in Barbossa's expression.

I explained briefly what had happened in the cabin as he finished dinner, and then watched as he put the empty bowl aside and came back to the bars.

"Come here," he ordered me, and I stepped closer to the cell, only to have him reach behind my head and draw my face to his through the bars. A long kiss later he spoke again softly. "Ye'll refrain in the future, Doctor, from any manner of discussion about love or sex, except with me."

"Are you jealous?" I whispered back, teasing still, until I saw his gaze turn icy.

"Do I need to be?" he asked coldly, his steely stare meeting my gaze unblinkingly.

"No, never," I said honestly, meeting his gaze steadily. A small gasp escaped me involuntarily as his other arm passed through lower bars and wrapped about my waist, pulling me against the bars between us as he pressed against the other side. Still holding me firmly in place, he closed his mouth over mine in an aggressive and clearly possessive way that made my heart race.

"You could unlock the door," he whispered near my ear after breaking off the kiss.

"I'll get myself thrown in the brig for letting you out," I whispered back.

"I said naught about lettin' me out," he replied slyly, and his implied reference to our earlier conversation when he'd expressed an interest in a tryst in the brig caused me to blush in his arms for the thousandth time.

"You are a wicked, wicked man," I scolded him, trying to pull away. He didn't let me, and yanked me against the bars a bit harder.

"Yer considerin' it," he stated confidently.

"I am not considering it," I refuted, still trying half-heartedly to free myself.

"Ah, but I think you are," he said, not letting go.

"Even if I were...I...I don't have the key," I stammered, getting flustered at the image he'd placed in my mind.

"Don't need it," he said, holding up the spoon I'd brought along with dinner. Seeing the surprised look on my face, he frowned a little. "Do ye think Jack Sparrow be the only scoundrel on this ship who can pick a lock?"

"Can you?" I asked, intrigued.

Barbossa sighed resignedly and finally let go of me. "Step back," he ordered, and I watched as he bent the handle of the spoon at an angle and reached back through the bars. After fishing around inside the lock for perhaps twenty seconds, his efforts produced a soft but audible '_clunk_' and the door swung open.

I laughed, delighted at discovering his heretofore unknown talent. "Can you teach me that?" I asked, fascinated.

"Aye, 'tis simple enough," he replied, clearly pleased with himself. "Step through so I can show you."

I complied with his order, but realized the error of my actions as soon as the door clanged shut behind me again and Barbossa casually tossed the mangled spoon aside.

"There be plenty of time fer me to show you that later," he said, closing the short distance between us with a look in his eyes that said he had only one thing on his mind.

"You tricked me," I said, taking a step in reverse. My back ran against the bars behind me, and another step forward from him trapped me there. "You can't really mean to..."

That mesmerizing blue stare fastened itself on my eyes, and I realized that he was quite set on his path. "That I do, lass," he said in a low voice.

I whispered desperately to him. "Hector, we can't...someone will see...I can't."

"Oh, but I think ye can," he growled softly near my ear, placing a hand on the bars on either side of my shoulders to prevent my escape.

Despite the fact that part of me was sorely tempted to lose myself in the moment, which was rapidly becoming more heated, especially on his part, my sense of propriety had not completely abandoned me yet, and I turned my head away, gently avoiding the passionate kiss he was leaning close to engage me in. "You can't truly expect this of me," I said in an unsteady whisper.

"Ah, but I do expect such from ye," he whispered in my ear, leaning his forehead against mine for a moment. "Is it not yer duty to yer captain and to yer lover?"

I was fighting a losing battle with the way he began nuzzling along my jaw and along my throat, and closed my eyes as I made one last faint attempt at resisting. "I should think a woman would only owe that duty to her husband," I said, my tone barely passing for any sort of admonishment.

Something changed in Barbossa's entire demeanor at that moment; I could feel it in his subtle change of posture and hear it in his voice. "Perhaps yer right," he said softly, letting go of the bars and placing his hands very gently on my upper arms, "and perhaps so is Turk."

His expression had softened, and something tender, which I saw from him but on rare occasions, had replaced the desirous spark in his eyes from a moment before.

"Turk?" I whispered back.

"Aye, May," Barbossa replied, "the great ox reminds me at least twice a day that I should ask ye to marry me."

I know that my mouth dropped open a little, correlating with the two or three beats that my heart skipped upon hearing what he'd just said. The roguish smile that I loved so well appeared as he saw my expression, and he reached out and caressed my cheek ever so gently. "_Breathe_, lass," he said, clearly amused and yet pleased by my shock. "I'll not ask yeh behind bars."

I abruptly exhaled the breath I'd gasped at the word _'marry'_ and suddenly found myself breathless with tears brimming in my eyes.

Barbossa appeared instantly concerned. "Did I say somethin' wrong?"

Struggling with the emotion that overwhelmed me at that moment and with the tears, all I could do was vigorously shake my head, letting him know that I wasn't upset. His expression relaxed, as he understood my reaction was a positive one, and I finally managed to croak out a hoarse whisper, "I...I would say yes, even if you asked me behind bars."

"'Tis a fine thing, knowin' that," he said, his usually coarse voice a tender rumble, "but ye'd be far too fine a lady to not deserve better in the askin', even if it only be a poor offer from a humble pirate."

With the way he was looking at me, I was thankful that he stood so near, as I felt at that moment as if my legs might betray me. Overwhelmed with how he was making me feel, I embraced him and clung to him, tucking my head under his chin as his arms went around me.

"Well, at least yer makin' progress," Turk's voice said from behind us, and I started to laugh quietly, even while I was still snuggled against Barbossa's chest.

"Master Turk, this be a private moment," he said, scolding the large bo'sun, but unable to hide his amusement.

"Aye, quite private it is down here in the brig, with fifty pirates muckin' all about," Turk said back wryly. He then addressed me, where I had let go of Barbossa and glanced at him. "Sorry to interrupt, May, but Sparrow's lookin' fer yeh."

"Why?" I asked, somewhat annoyed.

"Rabara's man is in trouble, and Jack sent me to find you," he said. "Funny thing that I might know just where to look first, eh?" He unlocked the cell with the key that Jack had given to him, and swung the door open wide for me.

I glanced back at Barbossa with an apology in my eyes for the fact that I was about to leave him alone again, but he knew me well enough to know my mind had already moved out of the realm of romance and into the territory of medicine. "Go on, Doctor," he said quietly.

"I'll be back," I said softly, taking his hand briefly before I left.

He nodded, letting my fingers slip slowly through his. "I'll wait fer ye."

I felt terrible leaving him in the damp, dim cell alone. "I won't be long."

"However briefly ye'd be away will be far too long," Barbossa said, a bit more dramatically than was necessary, and I realized he'd done it for Turk's benefit. Completely amused, I added my two shillings.

"I shall carry you in my heart, out of this darkness," I professed lovingly, eliciting a chuckle from Barbossa and a groan from Turk.

"Bloody hell," Turk muttered as I caught him rolling his eyes at us in my peripheral vision, "there's a man dyin' on board, and the two of yeh are playin' at friggin' _Romeo and Juliet_."

Barbossa returned to his bed and his book with a chuckle as I accompanied Turk out of the brig. "You've read _Romeo and Juliet_, Turk?"

"Aye, I've read it," Turk grumbled.

"Really?" I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice at the thought of the intimidating, large pirate reading such a thing.

"Oh, he's more'n read it!" I heard Barbossa call up to me where I was on the stairs with Turk.

"What's that about?" I asked, dying to know, especially when I saw the big pirate turn slightly red.

"Nuthin'," he growled. "Lost a bet with Barbossa once." He volunteered nothing else as we hurried topside.

"You know I'll get the story from Hector later," I said, teasing him.

"I reckon that's not all yeh'll get from Barbossa later," Turk countered, making me blush as he often did so easily.

--

While Turk had been exaggerating about someone dying on deck, Sanchez, my reluctant patient, might have disagreed with him. By the time he'd finally confided in Rabara that he was in need of my help, and Rabara had gone to the captain's cabin in search of me, it had been hours since he'd been able to produce a stream of urine. Although not life threatening after only a few hours, a complete urethral obstruction such as Sanchez had finally acquired from the stones, was nonetheless excruciating, and if left untreated would cross into the realm of life threatening in twenty-four hours or so.

Rabara and Jack met me first when I made it on deck, and Cisco was clearly irritated with his countryman.

"The idiot has waited much too long. Half of this agony he has brought upon himself!" he said, annoyed but obviously concerned.

"What exactly is his problem?" Jack asked, accompanying us to where Sanchez was looking like he was in a lot of pain.

I explained the situation, including the impending surgery, to Jack, whose lip curled involuntarily in distaste. "Sounds horrible," he croaked, cringing visibly. He composed himself after a minute. "What will you need?"

"She'll need a table, the surgeon's chest, and towels," Barbossa said from behind us, where he was striding quickly to catch up. "The laudanum is in the cabin for safekeepin'."

Jack gave Barbossa a disgusted look. "What are _you_ doing out?" he asked.

Barbossa merely tossed the mangled spoon at him, and Jack caught it deftly and scowled at it. "A _spoon_?"

Barbossa sneered unpleasantly at Jack. "At least I didn't have to _fork_ my way out of a cell, Jack."

Looking quite indignant, Jack opened his mouth hastily as if to retort, but not fast enough.

"Seems that some of us recall a certain jailer's daughter in St. Marcus," Barbossa said with a self-satisfied smirk upon his face.

Obviously having had his memory refreshed, Jack suddenly smiled sheepishly and let out a tiny chuckle. "Oh yeah. Buxom little thing, wasn't she?"

"With a face like a pox-riddled blowfish," Barbossa said quietly but pointedly.

"It was dark," Jack said defensively. "Very, very dark, thank God."

I gave Jack a look that clearly said any further discussion about the jailer's daughter was going to have to wait until after my patient had been treated, and he sobered and became all business immediately.

"Alright, you scabrous dogs!" he growled, effectively causing pirates to scatter to retrieve the items Barbossa had mentioned. "Get the doctor what she needs now or I'll keelhaul the lot of you faster than your mothers could run out from under the porch and bite a stranger's ankle!"

Leaving Turk nodding appreciatively at the insult, I went to Sanchez, who was looking like he was in agony, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm, speaking as kindly as I could. "This will be over in no time," I said, trying to project an air of easy confidence. "It won't be pleasant, but the procedure only takes a few minutes, and I promise it'll be worth it in the long run." I smiled at him, but clearly terrified and painful, Sanchez could only manage a brief nod.

I drew Barbossa, Sparrow and Turk aside, including both captains in the discussion, as I couldn't afford to deal with any petty squabbling on their part at that moment. "I'll need help," I said grimly, keeping my voice down. "The laudanum will help with a lot of the pain, especially post-operatively, but he's going to have to be held still."

"I'll help," Turk volunteered immediately.

I looked at him gratefully, knowing that he understood well what the consequences of going under my knife were like, even though thankfully, he'd been unconscious that awful day.

"As will I," Rabara chimed in from where he'd come to my side.

"Just tell me what ye need, lass," Barbossa said, counting himself in.

"I'll need a couple more," I said quietly, not wanting Sanchez to know that I'd need that many people to pin him down.

Carranzo, shipmate to Sanchez and Rabara, stepped up to be counted, looking grimly determined.

"One more," I whispered, and all eyes went to Jack, who seemed to blanch a little. I think the only reason that he volunteered to assist was that he didn't want to be shown up by Barbossa.

With the urgent nature of the situation influencing their behavior, I have to say that I was impressed at how quickly and efficiently both captains orchestrated the provision of a makeshift operating room for me. Within fifteen minutes, a suitable table, extra lanterns, towels, the laudanum and surgeon's chest had all been arranged in a small cabin, which had just enough room to accommodate the patient, myself and all of my assistants. It proved to be a bit cramped but nonetheless adequate surgery, especially considering that it was located on a notorious pirate ship.

Once Sanchez had been led to the small room, I bade the others stay outside for a moment and shut the door, wishing to have a confidential moment with my patient.

"Mr. Sanchez," I began evenly, "you must realize that if we don't proceed that you will die?"

Sanchez nodded grimly, wincing once at how painful his abdomen was becoming.

"You also realize that this procedure is not without risk?" I asked, getting another nod that indicated he understood.

"I realize that you are in this position because, at the moment, you don't really have any other options," I said softly, "but thank you for trusting me enough to let me treat you. I shall do my very best." With that, I turned away to let the rest of my assistants into the cramped room.

I think the number of people that I had included to assist me with the procedure might have given Sanchez a brief moment of hesitancy, knowing that he was about to be spread across my makeshift operating table sans clothing and dignity, but he was obviously in too much pain to care for very long.

While Rabara saw to it that Sanchez downed the measure of laudanum that I had indicated, as well as several healthy measures of rum, I explained to my assistants exactly how things were to proceed. I will not go into all the technical details here, which caused them to blanch to a man, but suffice it to say that they all gritted their teeth and dutifully took up their positions.

Rabara and Carranzo stationed themselves near Sanchez's arms, the better to converse with him and reassure him in Spanish, and Jack and Turk took up positions to hold the man's legs in place. Barbossa, having already discarded his hat and coat, rolled up his sleeves and prepared to assist in any way I might need.

While one might thoroughly expect that Sanchez flinched and groaned when I finally incised his skin to make the approach to the necessary area, I was vaguely aware of a collective gasp from the entirety of the male company in the small room, likely due to collective empathy for just where I needed to make my incision.

As before, I will spare the unpleasant details of just what is involved in the lateral perineal approach to the urinary bladder, but suffice it to say I did so as quickly as I could, while my companions helped to steady and immobilize poor Sanchez.

Barbossa dutifully handed me whatever I needed very efficiently, and nothing was spoken other than my requests for surgical instruments and Rabara's occasional reassurances to Sanchez in Spanish. Within five minutes I was rewarded with the first of the four very large stones that had caused Sanchez so much agony, and a minute later I briefly held up the last one for him to see.

"That's the last of them," I said with a quick smile, watching as a very pale and tense Sanchez nodded briefly in acknowledgement. "Just a few more moments to get this all tidied up, alright?"

Suturing as quickly and carefully as I could, I began closing the layers of flesh that I had cut, and by the time I was placing the last silk sutures in the incised skin, about twenty minutes had passed. Pleased with how smoothly things had gone, I indicated that Sanchez could be released, and that he should be given another measure of the laudanum.

When I went to wash my hands in the basin set up in the cabin, all the men were looking at me with what appeared to be a combination of horror and respect obvious on their faces. I met Turk's gaze, and despite the fact that he was a bit paler than normal, he managed to wink at me, and I smiled back.

Once the room had been cleaned and Sanchez left to the company of his shipmate, Carranzo, everyone filed out quietly. I went to follow after telling Sanchez that I was pleased with how things had gone, and that he should rest, but Rabara pulled me aside before I could exit the cabin.

"What are his chances now?" he asked in an undertone, quietly enough so that Sanchez wouldn't hear.

"If he heals well, then his chances are very good, Cisco," I said back softly.

"And when will we know that he is out of danger?" Rabara asked.

"Well, there is a small chance of longer-term complications, but essentially, if things go well for the next five days, he should be fine," I replied, knowing that chances were if the wound didn't fester within the first five days, it likely wouldn't.

"Bueno," Rabara said softly, and then he put his hand on my wrist for a brief moment. "Gracias, Doctor Gray."

I smiled and then went on deck for a breath of fresh air, only realizing once I stood near the railing how tense I'd been the whole time I'd been concentrating on the surgery.

A large, firm hand on my shoulder told me that Turk was standing next to me and I glanced up at him from where I leaned on my hands on the railing.

"Yeh alright there, darlin'?" he asked, understanding, apparently, how much pressure I'd been under.

I let go a larger sigh than I was expecting. "Yes."

"I hope that I don't ever need to go through _that_," he said, jerking his head in the direction of my makeshift surgery suite, "but if I did, I reckon I'd want yeh to be the one to do it."

"If you had a choice in the matter, I'd much rather you'd have Monsieur Dumond do it," I replied. "He's done a lot more of those than I have, and he can complete the entire procedure in about half the time."

Turk let out an appreciative low whistle.

"And even he's not as fast as Dr. Cheselden, who taught him," I continued on, suddenly feeling very relieved and tired. "He can get to the stones in under a minute now, with the number of times he's done the surgery."

Turk shrugged. "Still, I reckon if I had to be spread naked on an operatin' table, I rather it be with a pretty lady doctor rather'n some bloke manhandlin' me important bits," he said with a laugh, making me blush a little for the thousandth time since I'd known him.

"That would make two of us, Master Turk," Barbossa said as he joined us at the rail.

Turk gave him a pointed look. "I reckon yeh wantin' to be spread naked on an operatin' table with the doctor has damn little to do with anythin' surgical," he said with a laugh, causing Barbossa to chuckle.

Judging by how warm my cheeks felt, I'm sure that the color in them had deepened to an impressive pink.

"Ah, May lass," Barbossa said, obviously amused at my expense again, "what'll we do when ye've become accustomed enough to bein' amongst pirates that ye no longer blush so fetchingly?"

"I rather think that with the two of you around, that is very unlikely to happen," I said with a smile.

"Aye," Barbossa said, sharing a grin with Turk as they each put an arm around me while we stood at the rail, "that be true."

--

**A/N:** While Monsieur Dumond is Madeline's fictional surgical mentor from Paris, William Cheselden (1688-1752) truly was a surgical pioneer and teacher of Anatomy and Surgery. He's the one known for perfecting the procedure our good doctor performs in this chapter.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Five ~*~**

**--**

_Turk shrugged. "Still, I reckon if I had to be spread naked on an operatin' table, I rather it be with a pretty lady doctor rather'n some bloke manhandlin' me important bits," he said with a laugh, making me blush a little for the thousandth time since I'd known him._

_"That would make two of us, Master Turk," Barbossa said as he joined us at the rail._

_Turk gave him a pointed look. "I reckon yeh wantin' to be spread naked on an operatin' table with the doctor has damn little to do with anythin' surgical," he said with a laugh, causing Barbossa to chuckle._

_Judging by how warm my cheeks felt, I'm sure that the color in them had deepened to an impressive pink._

_"Ah, May lass," Barbossa said, obviously amused at my expense again, "what'll we do when ye've become accustomed enough to bein' amongst pirates that ye no longer blush so fetchingly?"_

_"I rather think that with the two of you around, that is very unlikely to happen," I said with a smile._

_"Aye," Barbossa said, sharing a grin with Turk as they each put an arm around me while we stood at the rail, "that be true."_

_---_

Sanchez was doing well forty-eight hours after his surgery, and with Rabara's help, I was able to convey to him that he shouldn't be alarmed about the blood he was passing; it was to be expected and would resolve most likely within a couple more days. Sanchez was a little less reluctant to have me examine him by then, having figured, I suppose, after I had cut him open and sewn him back together in front of half a dozen other pirates, that me quickly checking his incision each day was no longer as embarrassing for him.

With the aid of the laudanum and the fact that the post-surgical pain improved a little every day, Sanchez was very quickly feeling better than he had in a very long time, and actually began to smile whenever he saw me, rather than cringe and dread encountering me. Despite the fact that he spoke only broken English and I understood very little Spanish, he managed to convey, on several occasions, even without Rabara's help, how grateful he was for my services, and that he would never doubt my capabilities again, despite the fact that I was _una mujer_.

The two days after the surgery passed fairly uneventfully on board the _Pearl_, and thankfully, despite the fact that they continued with the business of alternating days as captain, Barbossa and Sparrow each seemed willing to forego locking each other in the brig, at least for the moment.

Things were still somewhat unsettled for me, as the two of them each insisted on staying in the great cabin on their nights in command, and in the cabin Turk and I had been utilizing on their days off. Although everything in the world that I currently possessed was a hand-me-down from Cornelia Beckett and fit into one large trunk, it was still an inconvenience to move the cumbersome thing every other night, and so I made do with leaving it where it was in the smaller cabin, and trying to get what I needed whenever Jack was out on deck.

Though I had fretted about not pulling my weight and having some of the crew resent me, it quickly became apparent that between the enormous amount of work it took to prepare anything halfway decent to eat for fifty pirates, and tending to some of the injuries that were not uncommon on board any sailing ship, that I needn't have worried about doing enough work.

The crew seemed to take my continued presence in stride, and indeed, treated me with a fair measure of respect –at first because it had been made clear that I was to be treated no other way, since I was the captain's lady, and later on because they had seen what I was capable of. But unbeknownst to me at first, apparently there was another reason why they collectively decided that they would let go of any superstition about bad luck concerning having me on the ship.

Turk explained it to me one evening, after dinner, when I had commented that the men seemed to have surrendered their resentment of me for the most part. The crew was gathered on deck companionably, trading stories as they lounged about, all quite full from stuffing themselves on the meal I had prepared.

"Aye," he said, strolling along the rail with me, while Barbossa was busy arguing over details of exactly how the maps would be recovered the next day with Jack. "I'd say it'd be right unlikely by now that any of 'em would say it's a bad idea yeh're aboard."

I missed the subtle smirk he was wearing at first.

"So, they're glad to have me cook for them instead of Hamlyn, are they?" I asked. "My mother always said, 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach', although I'm quite certain she didn't have fifty buccaneers in mind when she said it."

"Aye," Turk said again, amused, but not just at my comments. "They're pleased as pie that they don't have to put up with what Hamlyn made, but that ain't really why they like havin' yeh onboard."

I stopped at the starboard rail for a moment. "Huh, I didn't realize that it made such a difference with having a doctor on board," I said naively. "I'm glad that they think it's useful."

"Oh, that they do, darlin'," Turk continued, now grinning, "that they do, but that ain't the reason either."

"No?" I asked, puzzled as to what he thought the reason might actually be.

"Nope, it ain't yer cookin', it ain't yer doctorin', and despite the fact that most of the men don't mind havin' yeh around to look at," Turk replied, "it ain't that either."

"Well then, what, pray tell, would be the reason they've decided they like having me on board?" I asked before I had a chance to think it through. "Just over two weeks ago a few of them seemed as if they might be tempted to pitch me over the side when Hector wasn't paying attention." I should have known better than to ask by the look Turk was wearing.

"Barbossa," Turk replied.

I frowned a little in puzzlement. "I'm afraid I don't follow you," I said.

"Let's just say he's been too preoccupied to be bothered chewin' out the crew much lately," Turk answered with a grin.

"Oh?" I asked, still not comprehending precisely what Turk was implying, and then just what he was saying hit me. "Oh!"

Turk chuckled heartily at my embarrassed reaction. "Yeh might say that the ol' peacock 'as been in a bit of a better mood...hasn't been as inclined to ride the crew's arses since yeh finally decided to let 'im have a piece of yers."

I heaved an exasperated sigh and just shook my head at my very blunt pirate friend, even as my cheeks burned once more. "Thank you for putting such a fine point on that for me, Turk," I said, slightly horrified.

"Don't mention it," he said, clearly savoring his wicked enjoyment of my discomfort yet again.

At that point our attention was caught by the now-familiar sounds of Barbossa and Sparrow arguing as they exited the cabin and headed our way.

"Ye'll take us too close to Isla Perdida by goin' that way," Barbossa was protesting, hot on Jack's heels as he climbed to the quarterdeck, Jack the monkey chittering agitatedly on his shoulder. "I prefer that we not risk an encounter with any navy vessel makin' berth there with my ship, if ye'd not mind."

"Well, then it's a good thing that we're passing by Isla Perdida with _my_ ship," Jack snapped back, "so then you don't have to worry your grizzled old head about it."

"I'll not stand fer takin' unnecessary risks, Jack," Barbossa continued, drawing himself up to his full height. "A chance encounter be one thing, but sailin' the _Black Pearl_ right past navy occupied waters is just askin' fer trouble."

Jack opened his mouth to protest, and then appeared to re-think what he was going to say as he shooed Cotton off the wheel with a squawk of his parrot. "You know, Barbossa," he began, placing a hand upon the wheel, "I have to say that it looks as though you're losing your edge, mate."

"And what mean ye by that?" Barbossa asked, folding his arms across his chest and clearly looking displeased. The capuchin fastened a similar piercing stare on Jack from his master's shoulder, imitating the same posture.

"Well, the Hector Barbossa I knew would have been happy to not only sail the _Black Pearl_ past occupied waters, but to take her straight on in and blast any threat out of the sea before they even knew what hit their redcoat-wearing arses. Now you just want to slink about the Caribbean looking over your shoulder every other second...a bilge rat scurrying from shadow to shadow, as it were."

"I hardly call avoidin' unnecessary risks _losin' me edge_, Jack," Barbossa replied calmly, taking on a lecturing tone of voice. "But I'd not expect ye to understand – you bein' the less experienced captain an' all."

Jack waved him off. "Pirating is risky business, any way you slice it, my dear Hector. But of course I wouldn't expect you to understand that, you being the captain with less, erm, _resolve_."

"Less resolve?" Barbossa echoed, starting to let annoyance creep back into his voice, understanding that Jack was goading him by taking a jab at his nerve. He unfolded his arms and took a step toward Jack. "Ye've not met a man of firmer resolve, Jack, and yeh know it. 'Tis the very reason yer standin' here, in fact. I wager ye'd still be havin' tea with the crabs and conversations with yer imaginary friends if I'd not had enough _resolve_ to go an pluck yer sorry arse out of the Locker." Little Jack screeched at his namesake, clearly to emphasize Barbossa's point.

By that point in the conversation, Turk and I could tell things were heating up dangerously, and we both headed quickly for the stairs.

Jack frowned, not quite ready with a comeback. "Don't you have something better to do, Barbossa?" he asked with a slight sneer, turning to grip the wheel with both hands. "You know, on your day as..._not _captain?"

"Besides lookin' out fer the welfare of me ship an' crew? No," Barbossa replied, appearing as though he were quite inclined to remain where he was.

"Well, find something..._anything_," Jack snapped, shooing Barbossa off. "Why don't you go play with your monkey."

Turk and I made it to the quarterdeck in time to see Barbossa's expression darken noticeably at the double meaning in Jack's suggestion.

Jack flitted a hand in my direction. "Or have her do it...keep you out of my hair...bloody woman ought to make herself useful and do what it is that women do best..."

Jack never had a chance to finish his sentence as he suddenly found himself shoved up against the wheel, one of Barbossa's hands gripping his shirtfront and the other pressing the pearl handled dagger I'd barely seen him draw against Jack's throat. He dropped his voice dangerously. "Insult me all yeh want, Jack, The Powers know that ye've had enough practice; steal me ship, shoot the monkey...say whatever 'tis ye will about me hat and me crew, but the next time I hear ye say anythin' disrespectful about _the lady,_ the maps be damned and I'll hand deliver yeh meself right back to the blasted Locker! Be that clear?"

"Perfectly," Jack croaked hoarsely, looking down towards the blade under his chin.

Both pirates stared each other down for a few more seconds, and then Barbossa freed Jack with a shove and turned to where I stood. I admit, although I don't completely understand it myself, that I found his gallant defense of me entirely charming, despite the fact that Jack Sparrow nearly had his throat slit, and the look I wore when Barbossa's eyes met mine must have said as much. Seeing the way I was beaming after hearing his words, his expression softened and he spoke much more gently to me.

"M'lady," he said, offering me his arm, which I took, and I let him escort me back down the stairs. While I was out of earshot of what took place between Turk and Jack after that, Turk was quite happy to inform me later.

"Well," Jack began, rubbing at the imprint of Barbossa's dagger on his throat, but wearing a wry smile, "judging by the look of adoration that our bonny doctor just graced the Lord of the Caspian Sea with, I'll wager that the two of them should be fairly well preoccupied for at least the next hour."

Turk raised an eyebrow at Jack's mischievous grin. "Yeh expected that reaction outta Barbossa, didn't yeh?" he asked, beginning to grin himself.

Jack shrugged, still wearing a subtle smile.

"And yeh didn't really mean what yeh said about 'er only bein' useful fer one thing, I'll bet," Turk ventured next.

"Wot, Maddie?" Jack asked, glancing at his compass and adjust the heading to take the _Black Pearl_ a little closer to Isla Perdida. "'Course not! Good cook, good shot...she's a bloody doctor for Pete's sake...might be one of the most useful members of this crew. Maybe even more useful than your very large self, Mr. Kempthorne," Jack added wryly.

"Aye, I don't doubt that," Turk said, chuckling, "but I'll keep in mind how yeh manipulated that situation just now."

"I merely found a way to ensure that my annoyingly persistent and yet quite surprisingly love-struck counterpart would be out of me hair for a bit, whilst we sail close...in fact, quite close, past Isla Perdida. And seeing that Barbossa is probably right to be concerned about a naval presence in this region...do _not_ tell him I said that...while he is raptly and amorously engaged with his fetching lady, we shall have to haul arse across these waters as fast as the wind and _my_ lovely lady can carry us.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to ensure we crowd every last inch of canvas that she'll carry upon the yards? We have need of great haste."

"Not takin' any unnecessary risks then, aye?" Turk asked pointedly.

"Hell, no," Jack said, returning his attention to his navigation.

--

Whether it was due to luck, the great speed of the _Black Pearl _under the command of Jack Sparrow, or a combination of both, by sundown that evening we'd sailed well past Isla Perdida, and likely past immediate threat from any naval vessels. Of course, with the size of the fleet that Charles Beckett had scattered across the Caribbean after the death of his brother, Cutler, we all knew that the chance of a skirmish arising at any given moment was much greater than usual, and both Jack and Barbossa kept the crew on their toes.

The route Jack had taken along the leeward side of Isla Perdida had cut off half a day from our journey, and by sunset, when Barbossa once again assumed command, the crew was abuzz with talk of regaining the charts to World's End and the Fountain of Youth. Pintel and Ragetti were huddled together with Gibbs, Marty, Cotton and a few others, speculating on whether or not the legends surrounding the Fountain were true, while several other groups of pirates had broken off into casual conversations and more speculation.

It was a fine, mild, cloudless dusk, and a very pleasant one to be out on the deck of the _Black Pearl_ under the myriad of stars that began twinkling into view overhead, but unfortunately, I got to spend only a precious few moments enjoying the stars and the early evening as I was up to my elbows in beans and biscuits in the galley, cursing both captains once again for assigning me galley duty.

It didn't help matters much that Hamlyn, still with a sizeable chip on his shoulder after being replaced by a woman, and a non-pirate at that, had taken to hovering about the tiny kitchen as I worked, harassing me with snide comments and useless suggestions. It had become habit for him to antagonize me as soon as he'd been let out of the brig, and even though I was determined to deal with the irritating cook myself and not trouble Barbossa with the matter, I was rapidly losing the ability to just ignore him and continue working.

I'd actually lost my composure on a pair of occasions and yelled at the man, which is saying something with as practiced as I am at biting my tongue. Unfortunately, his small victories in getting some sort of a response from me only served to encourage his annoying behavior, and I began dreading mealtimes more than ever.

On this particular evening, the one before it looked like we would reach the island where Jack had hidden the maps, there was a nervous energy all across the _Pearl,_ and the crew, being impatient for dinner and drink, hadn't been shy in suggesting as much. Working as efficiently as I could, I was becoming rather sweaty, frazzled and agitated, especially when Jack had sent Gibbs to find out how things were coming along. Hamlyn had already come down twice to mouth off at me, and by the time poor Joshamee poked his head in to pleasantly inquire about the status of dinner, I nearly threw a plate at him.

I think just the look of exasperation I shared with him told him enough, and he merely did an about-face and left matters well enough alone.

By the third time Hamlyn had stuck his head in and began sputtering about women in general, and women on ships, and his precious galley being invaded and turned upside down, I had had enough. Snatching up the large, sharp knife I'd been using, I whirled on him, gesturing at him with it as I finally snapped.

"I've just about had enough of you!" I said. "It's a wonder the men on this ship haven't either starved or thrown themselves overboard to avoid having to endure anything else that's come out of this galley!"

Hamlyn, crusty old seadog that he was, glared at me fiercely. "Yeh brazen wench! How dare yeh talk to me that way!"

"How dare you speak to me _that_ way," I said in reply. "You'd best mind your manners if you want to be treated civilly, and you'd best get out of the galley!"

"Or what?" he demanded. "Yeh'll run to the captain again, seein' as how yeh're his little strumpet?"

"Your manners are absolutely atrocious, which means bad," I added condescendingly, "and I can handle myself well enough without the captain, thank you."

Hamlyn, apparently infuriated that I was taking such a retaliatory stance, took an imposing step toward me, blocking the exit from the galley. "Oh, yeh think so, eh?'

"You take one step further," I said, taking another step forward myself and brandishing the knife, "and I will part you from your testicles so fast that you won't even realize the first one's gone before I've handed you the second one to shove up your own rectum!"

Hamlyn glared at me furiously but advanced no further.

"Go on! Just try me!" I said. "It's an even faster procedure if I'm not worried about minimizing blood loss!" I gestured further south with the knife, and Hamlyn backed down.

"Go! Get out!" I snarled at him, waiving the knife around a little maniacally. "Get out!"

Hamlyn, deciding that he'd rather keep all the parts he was born with, gave me one last glare, and muttering something quite impolite about females and me especially, stormed back out.

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, letting my hand with the knife drop finally, until I heard a noise from the doorway, and even as I shot another threatening look that direction and brandished the knife again, I realized it was just Turk who was standing there.

Turk raised his remaining hand in a gesture of surrender. "Easy there, darlin'," he said, "Barbossa just sent me to see if yeh needed any help."

I let the knife drop again. "He did?" I asked, my expression softening at Turk's words.

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Aye –knew yeh was workin' awful hard down here," Turk replied.

Something in his tone said that he wasn't telling the entire truth, and I eyed him suspiciously.

"You're lying," I said. "He actually sent you down here to see when dinner was going to be ready, didn't he?"

Turk grinned. "Maybe, but after hearin' what yeh said to Hamlyn, I'd be pretty daft to admit it, wouldn't I?" he asked, clearly amused. "I'd prefer to keep me important bits just where they belong, thank yeh very much."

I wondered if there would ever come a time when Turk wouldn't be able to make me blush so easily, even as my face burned at the thought that he'd overheard what I said to threaten Hamlyn.

"'Course," Turk continued, clearly feeling that my cheeks weren't pink enough as he dropped his voice an octave, "it'd take a bit more doin' to part me from mine than Hamlyn from his."

He laughed heartily, apparently satisfied that he'd sufficiently embarrassed me at last.

~*~


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N:** Just a mild warning for those of you reading that have more tender sensibilities -the scene at the end of this chapter, while not explicit in any way, does push the rating of the story just a bit, but it really was too much fun to write to leave out, and it has some amusing consequences over the next two chapters. ;)

--

Chapter Thirty-Six ~*~

--

_Turk raised his remaining hand in a gesture of surrender. "Easy there, darlin'," he said, "Barbossa just sent me to see if yeh needed any help."_

_I let the knife drop again. "He did?" I asked, my expression softening at Turk's words._

_"Yep."_

_"Really?"_

_"Aye –knew yeh was workin' awful hard down here," Turk replied._

_Something in his tone said that he wasn't telling the entire truth, and I eyed him suspiciously._

_"You're lying," I said. "He actually sent you down here to see when dinner was going to be ready, didn't he?"_

_Turk grinned. "Maybe, but after hearin' what yeh said to Hamlyn, I'd be pretty daft to admit it, wouldn't I?" he asked, clearly amused. "I'd prefer to keep me important bits just where they belong, thank yeh very much."_

_I wondered if there would ever come a time when Turk wouldn't be able to make me blush so easily, even as my face burned at the thought that he'd overheard what I said to threaten Hamlyn._

_"'Course," Turk continued, clearly feeling that my cheeks weren't pink enough as he dropped his voice an octave, "it'd take a bit more doin' to part me from mine than Hamlyn from his."_

_He laughed heartily, apparently satisfied that he'd sufficiently embarrassed me at last._

--

As I have written, at least once or twice in the past, there are few things that are secret on a pirate ship, and most that are, do not remain so for long. Unfortunately for me, while I was still engaged in finishing up dinner preparations in the galley, the news that I had threatened Hamlyn in a most atypical, yet colorful way probably worthy of my buccaneer compatriots, had made it topside, thanks to the efforts, I am quite sure, of my dear friend, Turk.

The results were that when I made it on deck myself, with the first pot full of dinner in my arms, many of the crew, who had gathered that night to all eat together on deck in anticipation of arriving at our destination the next day, behaved in an odd manner that it took me a moment to understand. As I passed by to put the large pot on a barrel that had been set aside for it, groups here and there of the men began snickering and acting rudely, each of them shoving a hand or two into their crotches.

By the time I'd set the pot down, and nearly all the pirates near me had adopted the same posture, I was incensed at the fact that I'd just worked so hard to see to that they were fed properly, and they were repaying me so unkindly. Thinking for a moment that Turk had overestimated my welcome aboard the ship, I stood with my back to them, fortifying myself and determined to maintain my composure when I turned and made my way back through the gauntlet of uncivilized, uncouth, unappreciative pillagers, and that's when it suddenly hit me: the crew, in response to hearing that their usually soft-spoken, well-bred ship's doctor had threatened to castrate their former cook, in jest, had all taken, not to _groping_ themselves, but to _shielding_ themselves, from any harm that might befall them if I happened to have a knife in my hand.

I'd spent enough time in the company of pirates to understand that this was their way of including me in a comradely joke, and despite the fact that yet again my cheeks flushed hot, I couldn't help but laugh at their ill-mannered humor. A wave of laughter coursed across the deck as my pirate companions realized I was laughing, and it seemed as though it might be a pleasant evening on deck after all. I never suspected how far from pleasant things would become over the next half hour.

I had just begun to compose myself again when Jack appeared at my side and lifted the lid off the pot, sniffing appreciatively at the contents.

"I have to admit, you know what you're doing," Jack said, closing his eyes and savoring the smell of spicy black beans and rice. "Win their hearts through their stomachs, and then strike fear into their hearts with a blade; it's what any pirate captain worth his salt would do." Jack met my eyes with a mischievous glint in his own dark ones.

"I don't know what you're on about, Jack. I merely made a pot of beans and happened to mention a surgical procedure to Hamlyn," I replied, trying to affect nonchalance and taking the ladle he was about to sample dinner from out of his fingers and handing him a bowl, which I then filled for him.

"Uh huh, I see," Jack said, after taking a bite of food. "So, you're not trying to reinforce the crew's loyalty to you by seducing them with your cooking?"

I laughed out loud. "Hardly, Jack, considering the supplies on board this ship."

"With which you've worked small miracles, darling...enough perhaps to seduce even old Jack," he said quite charmingly, taking another bite of the dinner I'd prepared.

"Jack Sparrow, are you flirting with me?" I asked admonishingly, although the effect was likely ruined by the smile I couldn't hide.

"Perhaps a little, Gwen," he said, reinforcing the fact that he was by calling me the name he'd given me the night we'd been talking in the tavern in Port Calais. "I will, however, adamantly deny I ever did such a thing...I'd prefer to keep all me parts in the places in which they started." A roguish gold-flecked grin crossed his face.

"Jack, I'd hardly threaten to surgically remove any parts from you, simply because of a little harmless flirting," I said, noting how dangerous Jack could likely be to a woman who wasn't prepared to deal with his boyish grin, charming manner, and rakish good looks.

"It's not you I'm worried about," he replied, casting a glance across the deck at Barbossa, who wore a thinly veiled, dark look at seeing me laughing with Jack. "He watches you all the time you know," Jack added between bites, "even if you don't realize it."

"Does he?" I asked softly, dishing out another bowl of food, and glancing again at the man in the great plumed hat across the deck, now speaking with Cisco Rabara.

"Aye. He's in love with you, Maddie, that's for certain...another small miracle you've managed to work aboard a pirate ship, if you ask me. I never thought I'd see the day when anything but the _Pearl_ and the sea would claim his black heart."

"And has anything ever claimed your black heart, Captain Sparrow?" I asked pointedly. "Besides the _Pearl_ and the sea," I added as he opened his mouth to reply, causing him to frown a bit.

Jack paused a moment, considering whether or not he would answer, and then smiled wistfully. "Perhaps," was all he said, very quietly, and then he recovered himself and changed the subject. "So, is it really as easy as you say, Maddie?" he asked, taking the ladle out of the hands of Gibbs, who was trying to serve himself dinner, and scooping a second helping into his bowl before handing the ladle back.

"What's that?" I asked, not making the conversational leap along with Jack.

"That procedure...making a man...erm..." Jack pulled a face as he finished, "a...a..._eunuch_."

"The procedure is quite straightforward, actually." I smiled sweetly at my dreadlock'd companion. "Would you care for me to elaborate?"

Jack gave a visible, violent shudder. "No." He crinkled up his nose and looked at me intently. "You haven't actually performed said procedure on anyone, have you?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but Jack rapidly threw up a hand to halt my reply. "Never mind, don't answer that." He seemed to be trying to rid himself of the image he'd conjured in his head for a moment. "You know, Maddie, for being such a learned and urbane lady, what it is you actually do for living is really quite...well," he said with a look of mild revulsion, "_distasteful_."

I laughed again, earning another quick glance in my direction from Barbossa across the deck. "I might say the same thing about you and Hector," I quipped back.

Jack took on a sly look. "But you won't, you don't, and you haven't," he said, weaving in closer to me, "not when it's clear that you will, you are, and you have been in love wiv a pirate, and not just _any_ pirate at that."

We both glanced in Barbossa's direction before Jack went on. "Did it ever occur to you, darling, that the reason you're currently the ship's cook, as well as her most competent and capable surgeon, of course, is to help reinforce the crew's loyalty to Barbossa?"

It hadn't, and the look on my face must have said as much.

"Food for thought, dearie," Jack said, and he wandered off to enjoy the rest of his dinner near the rail with Gibbs.

I stood there mulling over Jack's statement for a moment or two, and then made my way through the throng of hungry pirates endeavoring to procure themselves some dinner. Barbossa's expression was unreadable when I made it to where he was standing, bearing the gift of a full, steaming bowl of food, and I offered him my sweetest smile. Cisco, sensing that it would be best to leave us to a moment to ourselves, excused himself.

"Madre de Dios," he muttered pleasantly, "but that smells good. I think I had better get some quickly." With that, he left us standing alone together, or at least as alone as we might be at that moment, across the deck from the crew having dinner.

"I brought this for you," I said, offering Barbossa the bowl I had in my hands. He eyed it for a moment and then took it, uncharacteristically not offering any thanks. Immediately I sensed some form of displeasure from him, and I remained standing silently before him, waiting to see if he might volunteer what was bothering him, or if I was going to have to pry it from him.

A few bites of food later, his demeanor still remained frosty, and I decided to venture forth.

"Is dinner to your liking?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual as I broke the silence between us.

"Aye," he said between bites, and he said nothing for another moment as he handed up a small morsel of food to Jack, who was perched on his shoulder and eyeing me with cool interest as he nibbled on the offering. I wasn't really quite sure what to say next, but Barbossa spoke again in a low voice.

"But I'll tell yeh what's not to me likin'," he began, his steel gaze meeting mine fleetingly and then sweeping out over the dark waves as I waited. "The fact that ye chose to serve _him_ dinner before ye did me." He jerked his head vaguely in Jack's direction, and the situation became clearer to me

"Honestly, Hector," I admonished him very quietly, doing my best to keep the conversation just between us, "if you were paying attention, you'd have noticed that Jack served himself dinner, and that you are the only one to whom I brought food."

"I see," he replied, handing Jack another tidbit, and then setting the empty bowl on a nearby barrel and placing his hands on the rail, "and what is it ye were speakin' of with Captain Sparrow?"

I answered him in earnest. "Jack commented that he thinks you have me cooking in order to reinforce the crew's loyalty to yourself."

"Is that so?" he asked icily.

"Yes."

"And would that be a crime if I did?" he asked, still looking out over the open sea.

"Oh, like something being a crime would stop you from doing it," I said affectionately, and I grew concerned when his expression remained stony.

"That be true," he said, still not looking at me, and I could discern no trace of amusement in his voice.

I took a step closer and placed a hand over his, causing Jack to screech at me unhappily and then bound from Barbossa's shoulder and off into the rigging. Barbossa watched him go and then rolled his eyes a little, mildly exasperated with his companion's jealousy. "Jack also commented," I said very softly, "that you watch me all the time. Is that true?"

Barbossa appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then answered me in a hushed voice. "Aye, lass. Constantly."

"Really?" I asked, my heart aflutter at the thought that he monitored me much more closely than I had even suspected.

"There's not a glance at yeh or a remark from the crew that I don't scrutinize," he went on. "One unwanted hand on ye would land any one of these miserable sons of bitches at the bottom of the Caribbean. But I've watched ye care fer them, doctor them, cut a man ye barely know open and sew him back together; I've watched yeh do yer best to put up with the life of a sailor, thrust upon ye because yer foolish enough to care fer a pirate."

Here he turned to fasten that endless blue stare on me. "I've watched ye takin' one more step each day into my world, doin' yer best not to glance at what ye've left behind; 'tis a brave front ye put up, Madeline Gray.

"But I've also seen," he continued, his voice taking on a strained character, "you spendin' a fair bit of time laughin' in the company of Jack Sparrow. He glanced past my shoulder, irritated, at Jack standing with Gibbs across the way, and then back at me.

"And what of it?" I asked, instantly on the defensive. I had done my best to remain cordial to the man who had killed my lover, to facilitate peace on the ship, which, in the long run, served to further Barbossa's own ambitions. I didn't see the crime inherent in discovering that I could have a civilized or pleasant conversation with Jack. Apparently Barbossa did.

"What of it?" he echoed back, snarling softly. "Gah! Nevermind!" he snapped suddenly, turning about and storming toward the great cabin with pirates scattering to get out of his way when they saw the look he wore.

If I hadn't already been feeling so harassed by Hamlyn and harried by trying to meet the demand for food from fifty hungry pirates, I might have just characteristically bitten my tongue and left Barbossa to himself. But there was insinuation in his comments that I felt was unfair and unjust, and I was determined to set the record straight once and for all. I hurried after him and yanked the cabin door open, not ten seconds after he'd slammed it closed. It shut behind me heavily, causing him to glance back at me from where he'd already begun pacing in agitation.

"In case you'd forgotten," I started in, "it was your idea to bring Jack Sparrow on board this ship."

"Aye, and to leave him locked in the brig," Barbossa argued, "until some unthinkin' female witlessly let him out."

His comment stung, and I knew he'd said what he had intentionally, knowing that chauvinistically taking a stab at my intelligence would wound quickly and deeply. It did, and I suddenly felt hot angry tears threatening. "I suppose that since you apparently think that I'm so witless, that I'd just fall prey to Jack's flirting like some silly school maid," I spat back, fighting the tightening burn in my throat as emotion threatened to overtake me.

"Ye've spent more time than necessary in his company," Barbossa replied hotly.

"In part because you've sent me to talk to him," I replied angrily.

"And the other part?" he sneered.

"Time I spent finding out about you," I said, wiping away the first traitorous tear than trailed down my cheek. That reminder only seemed to irritate Barbossa more, and did nothing to lessen his anger.

"And ye need to flirt shamelessly with him to do that?" he demanded.

"Shamelessly?" I asked, furious that he would use such a word for the harmless comments we'd shared. Turk made remarks to me on a daily basis that were an order of magnitude worse than anything that had passed between Jack and myself, but Barbossa would never give them a second thought, because he trusted Turk so implicitly.

Apparently I wasn't being accorded the same courtesy, and the tears started in earnest. "You trust me so little that you think I'd be one of those women who would just amuse myself with a romp in another pirate's bed?"

"It's been known to happen," Barbossa said acidly.

"Yes, well, let me inform you, Captain Barbossa," I said, completely incensed, "I am not the poor caliber of woman who would so easily fall victim to Jack Sparrow."

"I said naught about yer romp bein' with Sparrow," Barbossa snarled furiously.

I'm sure that at least ten or twelve full seconds went by as the shock of what he had said sank in, and I stood there in wounded disbelief. "So that's it, is it?" I sobbed, my voice cracking since it was no longer under my control. "You think because I slept with Michael Bellamy, that I would sleep with Jack?" I couldn't believe after all those years, that Barbossa felt the need to open that old wound.

"It took very little fer ye to end up naked between the sheets with Bellamy," Barbossa spat as he stepped closer.

"Oh, very little indeed!" I cried. "Just because he was the only person who, after I'd been kidnapped, shot at, starved and forced to watch my companion drown, showed me compassion and tenderness in a situation from which I wasn't sure I would emerge alive!"

"'Tis a pitiful bitch who will flock to any master for want of a kind word," he said with quiet venom in his words and fury in his hard blue stare.

"Yes, and most especially when she's been beaten by her first master!" I was barely able to finish speaking before the first sob escaped me, and I buried my face in my hands as I cried for a very long moment. Barbossa said nothing as my words sank in; he knew I referred to the one time he had ever struck me. Finally, feeling as if someone had pulled the emotional rug out from beneath my feet, I turned and bolted for the door.

My hand had just brushed the handle when Barbossa's strong fingers closed hard around my elbow, and I found myself being spun by the arm back around to face him. Distraught and outraged that he would grab me that way, I yanked my arm free.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped, and I began to turn for the door once more. Barbossa grabbed my arm again, his strong fingers biting into my flesh and a gasp escaping me as he yanked me completely about the second time. Emotionally wounded and furious at being handled so roughly, I unthinkingly landed a stinging slap across his cheek.

His eyes were blazing when he looked back at me, but I met his unblinking stare defiantly with tears in my eyes, even as he grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. He stepped forward to loom over me, shoving me up against the door at my back with a thud, and then, apparently not satisfied with the effect the first time, yanked me forward a little and pushed me sharply against the door again. While I suffered no injury from his gesture, it was enough to cause me concern, and when he abruptly let go of my arm, I flinched, half expecting his hand across my face.

No blow ever came, but his strong fingers closed roughly around my jaw, long black nails biting into my cheek ever so slightly as he pulled my chin up. For a long moment, that steel blue gaze bore into mine as fire blazed in its depth. The next thing I knew, he quickly took a final step forward, trapping me against the door, and while my hands went reflexively to his chest to push him away, I suddenly found his mouth pressed over mine, quite un-gently. The difference in strength and stature between us was enough to keep me from being able to leverage him away, but I confess, although it surprised me greatly, that after a moment my fingers relaxed against his chest and my lips parted willingly for the duration of the intense kiss.

Apparently sensing my sudden acquiescence, he released his hold on my chin and my arm, and wrapped me up in a tight embrace, crushing me against his chest as I flung my arms around his neck. Several searing kisses later, as I clung to him tightly, overwhelmed with the desire to be close to him, it seemed as though the realization dawned on both of us that at that particular moment, that there was only one way in which we could be any more intimately engaged.

Although his anger had fled, the look he met me with was no less intense than it had been a moment before, and it catalyzed the next rapid series of events. Even as he kissed me violently again, our hands moved simultaneously, mine to his head and his to his sword; I tore the plumed hat off and flung it, I know not where, mere seconds before he yanked the baldric he wore over his own head, and the blade clattered haphazardly to the floor.

His fingers grabbed blindly for the pistol in his belt, as mine worked deftly at untying the gold sash that hung from his hip, and while he continued to kiss me fervently, the thud of the gun hitting the floor was followed by the sash cascading to our feet.

I happened to be wearing a red dress that laced up the front that evening, and Barbossa's fingers went for the laces as I grabbed his frock coat and yanked it back off his shoulders, stopping their work only long enough to hastily pull his arms out of the sleeves. Our efforts were throwing us a bit off balance, especially as we continued our ardent kissing simultaneously, and at that point we fell back a step against the door, thudding against it unawares.

I confess that most of the buttons on Barbossa's waistcoat did not survive the moment, and once more he let go of the as-of-yet-uncooperative laces at my breast, tearing the waistcoat off and flinging it to join hat, sash, pistol, coat and sword. Pressing me back against the cabin door with the enthusiasm with which he was kissing me, his fingers worked frantically at the stubborn laces which refused to untangle.

"Here," I gasped breathlessly between kisses, reaching quickly to try to untie the knot myself.

"Move," he growled softly, brushing my hands aside, and the next thing I knew, his dagger flashed in the lantern light of the cabin and sliced handily through the laces of my dress from bosom to bellybutton. He closed in on me again with a look of dark longing so intense that it caught me off guard, and stabbed the dagger into the wood of the door, burying it deep enough that it stuck there as he grabbed my shredded dress. I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that the way he tore it apart, neckline to floor, served to fuel my own arousal as much as his, and a moment later when he pinned me against the door again, I was unable to suppress the first cry that escaped me when he took me, I admit, quite forcefully.

Although our intimate encounter was one of the most intense, and dare I say, lustful, that I had experienced up to that point, it ended quickly, building to a crescendo after a few moments of me breathlessly calling his name, my fingers tangled tightly in his hair as he savaged me one last time against the dark wood.

I have discovered over time that the _Black Pearl_ is a well-built ship, and that, thankfully, included the way her cabin doors were constructed, I realized once the moment was over, and Barbossa and I were panting together, leaning against them heavily. He rested his head against mine, holding me tenderly, until he had caught his breath enough to speak.

"Blast and bugger me," he gasped, "but me back will never be the same after that." He kissed my cheek once and then winced as he released me and straightened all the way. A roguish grin crossed his face as he looked me over where I was still collapsed against the door, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe to take in my disheveled hair and the remains of the ruined dress that hung off my shoulders.

"'Twas worth it, though," he said with a grin, and then he winced again at the pain that wracked his back from our lustful encounter.

"'Twas also worth it," he added, after the moment it took him to re-master the pain and for me to gather the halves of my dress about me, "to have to see the looks the crew will give us when we finally need leave the cabin."

As I have said before, there are not many things that remain secret aboard a pirate ship, and I gasped and covered my mouth in horror at the thought that clearly neither our argument nor our amorous reconciliation, which had tested the mettle of the cabin doors, was even going to start off as such. And while I stood there with my face burning hot and debating if I could get away with never leaving the cabin again, Barbossa merely tossed his head back and laughed.

~*~


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven ~*~

--

_I have discovered over time that the Black Pearl is a well-built ship, and that, thankfully, included the way her cabin doors were constructed, I realized once the moment was over, and Barbossa and I were panting together, leaning against them heavily. He rested his head against mine, holding me tenderly, until he had caught his breath enough to speak._

_"Blast and bugger me," he gasped, "but me back will never be the same after that." He kissed my cheek once and then winced as he released me and straightened all the way. A roguish grin crossed his face as he looked me over where I was still collapsed against the door, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe to take in my disheveled hair and the remains of the ruined dress that hung off my shoulders._

_"'Twas worth it, though," he said with a grin, and then he winced again at the pain that wracked his back from our lustful encounter._

_"'Twas also worth it," he added, after the moment it took him to re-master the pain and for me to gather the halves of my dress about me, "to have to see the looks the crew will give us when we finally need leave the cabin."_

_As I have said before, there are not many things that remain secret aboard a pirate ship, and I gasped and covered my mouth in horror at the thought that clearly neither our argument nor our amorous reconciliation, which had tested the mettle of the cabin doors, was even going to start off as such. And while I stood there with my face burning hot and debating if I could get away with never leaving the cabin again, Barbossa merely tossed his head back and laughed._

--

While there were many things that took place aboard the _Black Pearl_ that I did not personally witness, many of the goings-on have since been brought to my attention by Turk and others of the crew who have survived, as well as Barbossa himself.

What was brought most enthusiastically to my attention by Turk, with a fair measure of wicked glee, was the version of events of the night before we arrived at the island, as witnessed by the crew.

Privacy aboard a pirate ship is nearly non-existent, and with the fact that a good number of the crew were standing about, conversing casually and eating dinner as Barbossa stormed away from me and into the cabin, the way that I stormed after him and disappeared beyond the door was enough to pique their interest. Clearly some sort of lovers' quarrel was unfolding, and the fact that the infamous Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea was involved, seemed to greatly amuse the crew.

Pintel and Ragetti, having been standing nearest the cabin as they ate, shared a surprised look with one another, and then shrugged and scrambled together closer to the doors, each leaning an ear against the wood to try to catch the next part of the argument.

Having heard me verbally admonish their fearsome captain on the other side of the door, the two of them snickered behind their hands like naughty teenage boys, catching the interest of Marty, Cotton, and Cisco Rabara. The three joined Pintel and Ragetti at the door, likewise listening in on an otherwise private conversation.

By the time the cabin argument had gained momentum, Jack and Gibbs, who were discussing the plan for the next day, had suddenly noticed that about five or six other pirates had joined those already at the cabin, and they shared a puzzled look and approached the doors, where a dozen rogues were all trying to catch snippets of our quarrel with their ears pressed against the wood.

"What, might I ask..." Jack started, but a dozen pirates turned and shushed him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at the insubordination.

Pintel explained in a whisper, pointing at the door. "She's readin' 'im the riot act!" he explained with hushed glee.

Jack smirked. "Now this, I have to hear." With that he sauntered forward to place his ear against the door just in time to hear me say, _'I am not the poor caliber of woman who would so easily fall victim to Jack Sparrow!'_

Evidently Jack drew back from the door, clearly displeased. "Wot?" he said to Gibbs, who was leaning over his shoulder. "What does she mean, 'poor caliber'?"

"Shhhh!" the rest whispered, and Jack continued to frown, but joined them back at the door just as Barbossa snarled at me, saying, _'It took very little fer ye to end up naked between the sheets with Bellamy!'_

"Bellamy," Jack mused quietly. "Michael Bellamy? She's slept with Michael Bellamy yet she wouldn't consider sleeping with me? Does she not realize I'm Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"Shhhh!" Jack got shushed again while the crew listened for more of the unfolding drama.

"Bloody woman's got no sense at all," Jack muttered, re-joining the spying group of pirates.

''_Tis a pitiful bitch who will flock to any master for want of a kind word,'_ they all heard Barbossa snarl at me, and a collective stifled groan went up from the gathered eavesdroppers as the cruelty of his comment hit home.

"Now that be a tad harsh," Gibbs commented quietly.

"Oh, 'e made 'er cry," Ragetti whispered, causing a collective noise of sympathy to ripple through the group. They all pressed closer to see what would happen next.

From their side of the door it was only apparent that there was a short scuffle of some sort, and then they heard me say, _'Don't touch me!'_ through my tears again. Evidently the sound of the slap I gave Barbossa was audible on the other side, but they weren't able to tell just who had slapped who.

When the door was abruptly jarred, the group on the other side, which had increased in number by at least six or seven more pirates, began to share looks of concern that perhaps Barbossa was being less than civilized with me. Another thud against the door, followed by the sounds of several heavy objects hitting the floor, set up a debate about whether or not they should intervene, once it was unclear whether or not I was physically in danger.

"It is not for others to interfere with what takes place between a man and a woman behind closed doors," Rabara whispered, shaking his head.

An audible gasp from me caused Ragetti to speak up again. "S'not right, hurtin' a woman," he whispered, and after sharing looks among themselves that said no one was eager to intrude on the business of the fearsome Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, all eyes went to Jack.

"Oh, blood hell," Jack spat quietly, as the door rocked again and the crew heard a sharp cry from me. He took a deep breath to brace himself to confront Barbossa and reached for the door.

Apparent it was quite evident that the next cry from me was _not_ one of pain, and Jack froze in place before his fingers touched the handle, a smirk ever so slowly creeping across his face as it became entirely clear at that moment that the argument was at its end on the other side of the door, which creaked a little on its hinges.

Jack gestured gallantly at the cabin door, still smirking. "True love eventually conquers all," he said to the grinning crew as the wood beyond them was being jarred again repeatedly, and then he grimaced. "Let's just pray it doesn't conquer the doors."

--

I sat at the table in my customary seat later, wearing the lavender dressing gown that I'd been using recently, as my red dress was draped across another chair, probably having seen its last day, thanks to Barbossa. I was busy sewing buttons back on Barbossa's waistcoat, while he sat next to me in shirtsleeves, a book in one hand, and an apple that he'd taken a bite of in the other.

Absently, he offered me the apple while he read, and I leaned to take a bite from it, returning to finish with the button I was working on as I chewed, and a knock sounded at the cabin door.

"Enter," Barbossa called, setting down his book.

I truly expected our visitor to be Turk, and I was surprised when Jack slipped into the cabin and shut the door behind him, his dark eyes quickly taking in the two of us contentedly sitting at the table together.

"Ah, a scene of true domestic bliss," Jack commented, gesturing expansively at the two of us.

"What can I do fer ye this evenin', Jack?" Barbossa asked, only a trace of the usual hostility in his voice, likely because he was entirely content after we managed to settle our differences in an amorous manner earlier.

"I thought I would bring an interesting tidbit of information to your attention, Hector," Jack said, leaning casually against the door with his arms folded across his chest.

"What information?" Barbossa asked, a look of suspicion starting to bloom in his eyes.

"Information," Jack replied with a knowing look, "about the ship sitting broad on starboard quarter."

"There be a ship?" Barbossa asked, sitting back in his chair.

"Aye," Jack said, a look of dark mischief apparent in his eyes.

"Armed?" Barbossa asked.

"Aye."

"Navy?"

"Apparently not," Jack said, beginning to grin. "You should go and have a look."

While Barbossa considered his announcement, I watched Jack's eyes rove to what I was doing and then to the remains of my dress hanging on the chair. He said nothing, but gave me a pointed look while trying not to smirk, that caused me to quickly look away, blushing at the idea that he had understood the significance of the shredded garment.

Barbossa spoke up. "'Tis a moonless night; I'll wager she's not seen the _Pearl_?"

"I highly doubt it," Jack replied, at last prompting Barbossa to vacate his chair and head past where Jack still stood leaning near the door, and out of the cabin.

"You're planning on raiding that ship, aren't you?" I asked accusingly.

"Well, let's see," Jack said, tapping a finger against his chin and pulling a mock air of intense thought. "This is a _pirate _ship...and we are...oh, look!" he said glancing down over his attire with faux surprise. "Pirates!

"So aye, love, that ship's as good as ours."

"Huh."

"You know, Maddie, a share of what she carries will be yours," Jack said, sauntering slowly closer to the table, mischief in his eyes as well as his voice.

"I don't want a share," I said with a sigh. "I'd just rather not have to put any of you back together."

"Even old Jack?" Jack asked with a sly, narrowed gaze, gesturing down himself with ring-laden fingers.

"Even you, Jack," I said.

"Come now, where's that sense of adventure?" Jack asked, standing at the end of the table. "Surely you have one." His eyes flicked meaningfully to the ripped dress on the chair before him and then back to mine.

"Come on," he said, jerking his head toward the door before I could turn too red. "Come see me _Pearl_ in action."

Jack's eyes glittered with excitement, and his voice obviously held a fair measure of pride as he spoke about the ship. It was clear that he wasn't about to refrain from showing off in front of a woman, either. I thought at that moment how odd it was that two men who had so much in common, could get along so poorly.

"Alright," I said, standing and drawing my dressing gown closer about me and walking to the door, although Jack beat me to it.

He grabbed the handle to open it for me, but paused a moment and looked the dark wood over appraisingly. "Sturdy ol' doors, aren't they?" he asked with contrived innocence, and then he smiled to himself when he was rewarded with a deep shade of pink on my face. "After you, milady," he said, flinging the door open and gesturing gallantly for me to go through.

I hurried to catch up with Barbossa, Jack hot on my heels, and we took up places on either side of him at the starboard rail.

"Here," Jack said, offering Barbossa his spyglass, "have a look at her."

Barbossa glanced down at Jack's spyglass and raised a contemptuous eyebrow at it, turning and raising his own glass to his eye with an air of disdainful hauteur as he scanned the sea off the starboard quarter.

I wasn't entirely sure, since I was looking at where the distant ship was, but I'm fairly certain that out of the corner of my eye I caught Jack sticking his tongue out at Barbossa behind his back.

"What sort of ship is she?" I asked, concerned for them but curious nonetheless.

"Indiaman," Jack replied knowingly, "and if I'm not mistaken...and I'm usually not...one of Beckett's own personal fleet."

"Oh," I said, realizing the double temptation that ship was for the two pirates who stood next to me. Not only was she apparently heavily laden, but a strike against her would be a way for both of them to thumb their noses at Charles, who currently had the entire Caribbean fleet out searching for the _Black Pearl_.

"She'll need be scuttled," Barbossa added casually, lowering the glass and glancing about to take in conditions of sea and sky and light.

"Of course," Jack said, dark eyes glittering in the dim light on deck.

I cringed at the thought. Of course, from the pirates' perspective, it made perfect sense: raid the ship, take what we could, and then sink her before she could relay our last known position to any navy vessels, especially the ones that made berth on the far side of Isla Perdida, not long behind us. But my concern was not for treasure or putting a dent in Charles Beckett's purse, it was for those who might be injured among our crew, and for those unfortunate souls aboard the Indiaman, who, at the moment, had no idea how quickly they might be about to meet their maker.

"A swift right kick to the left nut this would be fer him," Barbossa added colorfully, lowering the glass and giving Jack a surprisingly amused look.

Jack smiled wickedly. "Which is more than could be said for his brother."

I didn't quite understand the meaning of Jack's comment, but Barbossa did and smirked just a little.

"Shall we introduce her to the _Black Pearl_, Captain Sparrow?" Barbossa asked, now entirely consumed with the idea of plundering the vessel on the horizon.

"Aye, that we should, Captain Barbossa," Jack replied, just as Turk, Gibbs and Cisco, who had all sensed something brewing, arrived where we were standing.

"What orders?" Gibbs asked, already knowing where things were likely headed.

Jack answered first. "Mr. Gibbs, shape us a course for that bloated sea-cow," he said, throwing a contemptuous look at Beckett's ship.

"Aye, but softly now, Master Gibbs," Barbossa added. "Brace to and then dowse the lanterns. We'll not catch her much before dawn, and I'd prefer if the only thing she sees with first light is the last ship she'll ever meet."

"Aye, Cap'ns," Gibbs said cheerfully, turning and striding across the deck as he began shouting instructions. "All hands, hoay! There's piratin' to be done, boys!"

Gibbs' words were all it took to set the crew instantly in motion, and within moments the remains of dinner had been cleared from the deck and the lee braces had been slackened, setting in motion a deadly game of cat and mouse that the mouse was not yet aware of. She wouldn't be until several hours later, just before dawn, after the two captains had patiently seen to tacking and wearing ship into a more favorable position from whence the _Pearl_ would gain the wind and pounce upon her intended prey with every last ounce of her infamous speed.

While it was fascinating at first to observe the skill with which the enormous black ship was maneuvered stealthily into position, after an hour of being on deck in my nightclothes, I had decidedly caught a chill, and decided to change. Recalling what Barbossa had said to me earlier in our voyage, about not advertising that there was a woman on board the _Black Pearl_, I ferreted out my riding attire from the trunk where Cornelia's, and now my clothes were, and donned them before pinning my hair up on my head and returning to the quarterdeck.

Turk caught up with me a few minutes later, coming to check in with Barbossa about where things stood, but also bearing the gift of a seasoned and sorry-looking, floppy leather hat, which he promptly jammed down upon my hair, patting me once on the top of the head jovially after he'd done so.

"There yeh go, _lad_," Turk said, grinning at me while Barbossa scrutinized the not quite so distant ship.

Jack meanwhile, looked me over and pulled a face at seeing the condition of the hat upon my head. "And to what point and purpose is the wearing of that moldy, shoddy chapeau by our surgeon?" he asked.

"It's a disguise," Turk retorted. "We thought it best if no one was able to report we had a woman on board."

Although Jack had to gaze upward to do so, he gave Turk a clearly condescending look. "I find two faults with your theory, Mr. Kempthorne," he said, walking around me and looking me over. "Firstly, I believe the current plan is to not have anyone left to report _anything_, least of all that my ship has been graced with the good doctor's presence."

Barbossa shot Jack a fleeting, yet annoyed look and went back to surveying the other ship.

"And secondly," Jack continued, looking me over appraisingly, "if you think that it isn't entirely obvious that the body under those clothes is most decidedly that of a _woman_, then you are either blind, or it must be that you prefer the company of scraggly-bearded old seadogs."

While I believe it was Jack's intent to pay me an offhand compliment, it was fairly apparent that it was also his intent to imply that there was more to the long-term friendship between Barbossa and Turk than appeared on the surface, and the poisonous looks that they each bestowed upon him clearly said neither had missed that insinuation.

Barbossa rolled his eyes and returned to his vigil, but Turk recovered first from his instantly annoyed reaction. "Well there, Sparrow, yeh've found me out," he said cordially, wrapping his good arm around Jack's shoulders. "But likely 'cause it takes one to know one, aye?"

Jack's eyebrows shot toward his faded red bandana as Turk continued speaking.

"'Cept it ain't the the scraggly-bearded kind of seadog that tickles me fancy," he said, looking Jack over in a way that clearly horrified the younger captain, "it be more the _beaded and braided_ type." He gazed with exaggerated affection at Jack, who was cringing within Turk's powerful embrace.

"As fascinating as that may be, Mr. Kempthorne," Jack replied, trying to pull away from Turk's muscular arm without success, "I feel it's only right to inform you that it is the _fairer..._the more _feminine..._and decidedly_ less brawny_ sex that tickles me own fancy."

"Yeh never know unless yeh try," Turk said, now barely able to keep a straight face. "There's a cozy little cabin available at the moment."

Jack panicked and finally managed to duck out from Turk's arm and began backing slowly away. "In RSVP to your invitation, I must offer my sincerest regrets, and regrets only," Jack said, palms pressed together before him, and then beating a hasty retreat.

"Ah, Turk," Barbossa chimed in from behind me with wicked mirth, "yeh'll have to settle fer rememberin' this as the day ye almost _captured_ Jack Sparrow."

"_Captain_!" Jack snarled back over his shoulder, annoyed and having taken the meaning of Barbossa's parting shot.

While Turk and Barbossa were both infinitely amused at having annoyed Jack, knowing, as I did, full well, that Turk's preference was also heartily in favor of the fairer and more feminine sex, I will say that they didn't have the last word on the matter.

The next few dark hours wore on with the _Black Pearl_ gaining steadily on the unsuspecting _Freewind Trader,_ her ebony hull cutting stealthily through the stygian waters, carried along swiftly by raven sails; few sailors indeed, if any, would have spotted her before dawn's first light.

Just before the first pale streak appeared on the horizon, and all the crew had manned their stations to wait, all that could be heard across the ship was the repetitive rumble and thud of each cannon sliding into place on the gun deck, ready to fire the first broadside when the order was given.

Closer and closer the _Black Pearl_ crept under cover of the final moments of darkness, both of her captains on the quarterdeck, Cotton at the helm, and Turk poised on the main deck to relay orders to his gun crew.

Gibbs quickly came to the foot of the stairs. "Shall we hoist our colors, sir?" he asked, primarily addressing Barbossa since it was currently his day as captain.

"Nay, hold fer yet another moment, Master Gibbs," Barbossa replied, without looking away from the telescope he held to his eye, scrutinizing the _Freewind Trader_ for any sign that she had spotted us. There may have been a more strategic reason to hold off hoisting the Jolly Roger, but I rather suspect that it was mostly Barbossa's sense of style that precluded him from giving the order at that moment; apparently it proved more dramatic to hoist it high once the target ship's crew had already experienced its first round of panic.

As I stood next to Barbossa, I didn't need a spyglass to know the moment when the lookout on the _Trader_ spotted the _Pearl_, silhouetted against the breaking dawn and close enough that many of the _Trader's _crew likely felt sickened with dread at that moment; I could hear the faint cry of alarm raised across the short distance between ships.

Barbossa, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, lowered the glass and called down to Gibbs. "Hoist the colors!" he barked cheerfully, and Gibbs relayed the order across the deck to the mainmast.

"Mr. Kempthorne," Jack called down a heartbeat later, "blow the lady a kiss good morning!" He then bounded lightly down the stairs to the deck below.

"Aye, sir!" Turk replied smartly, and he relayed the order to the gun deck.

Five seconds later, the cannon blast reverberated through the ship, and the warning shot ripped through the morning air and across the _Trader's_ bow.

"Smite me crossways!" Gibbs suddenly exclaimed, and those of us on or near the quarterdeck looked first to the man and then to where his gaze had traveled: up the mainmast.

There, it appeared, was flying not the black flag with Barbossa's distinct insignia on it, but a red flag that signaled we would give no quarter.

The effect seeing the crimson colors had on the crew of the _Freewind Trader_ likely was the same as if we had hoisted the black field with skull and crossed swords, but I can tell you that the effect it had upon Barbossa was not.

Barbossa, like the rest of us, had quickly and distractedly glanced at where Gibbs' eyes had shot to the top of the mainmast, as he likewise tried to assess the reaction from his intended prey to the warning shot, but the instantaneous surprised expression of shock and anger present after the double-take he did made the extent of his displeasure quite clear.

For not only was the flag we hoisted not the standard of the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea; not only was it colored crimson instead of black, but there, gracing the mainmast of the most feared ship in the Caribbean, were the remains of my shredded red dress, hoisted high to greet the new day.

Barbossa's face contorted with rage as he surveyed the garment streaming gaily in the wind, gripping the spyglass he held white-knuckled as he managed to hiss only a single word.

"_Sparrow!_"


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight ~*~

~O~

_Barbossa, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, lowered the glass and called down to Gibbs. "Hoist the colors!" he barked cheerfully, and Gibbs relayed the order across the deck to the mainmast._

_"Mr. Kempthorne," Jack called down a heartbeat later, "blow the lady a kiss good morning!" He then bounded lightly down the stairs to the deck below._

_"Aye, sir!" Turk replied smartly, and he relayed the order to the gun deck._

_Five seconds later, the cannon blast reverberated through the ship, and the warning shot ripped through the morning air and across the Trader's bow._

_"Smite me crossways!" Gibbs suddenly exclaimed, and those of us on or near the quarterdeck looked first to the man and then to where his gaze had traveled: up the mainmast._

_There, it appeared, was flying not the black flag with Barbossa's distinct insignia on it, but a red flag that signaled we would give no quarter._

_The effect seeing the crimson colors had on the crew of the Freewind Trader likely was the same as if we had hoisted the black field with skull and crossed swords, but I can tell you that the effect it had upon Barbossa was not._

_Barbossa, like the rest of us, had quickly and distractedly glanced at where Gibbs' eyes had shot to the top of the mainmast, as he likewise tried to assess the reaction from his intended prey to the warning shot, but the instantaneous surprised expression of shock and anger present after the double-take he did made the extent of his displeasure quite clear._

_For not only was the flag we hoisted not the standard of the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea; not only was it colored crimson instead of black, but there, gracing the mainmast of the most feared ship in the Caribbean, were the remains of my shredded red dress, hoisted high to greet the new day._

_Barbossa's face contorted with rage as he surveyed the garment streaming gaily in the wind, gripping the spyglass he held white-knuckled as he managed to hiss only a single word._

_"Sparrow!"_

~o~

Despite the fact that the _Black Pearl_ flew quite unorthodox red colors that morning, there was not much to be said or done about it once the warning shot had been fired, making it clear that the intentions of our ship were decidedly not cordial.

The _Freewind Trader_, commanded by a foolish and arrogant young man named Alton Carter, as we would find out shortly, made the significant mistake of firing upon the _Black Pearl_, as the inexperienced and haughty captain severely misjudged the threat before him and likewise, the skill and enthusiasm for resisting of his crew. He never should have fired that single shot in retaliation.

The impact of the blast hitting our hull sent reverberations across the ship, and Barbossa, already furious at the incident with our colors, was enraged further by both the audacity and stupidity of Captain Carter, and merely gave Turk a meaningful look. Turk, having understood the message contained in the look the two pirates had shared, disappeared below, and thirty seconds later our gun crews set up a barrage of rapid cannon fire that pummeled the daylights out of Carter's ship.

Carter, shocked by the speed and accuracy of the _Pearl's_ guns, and the haste with which the fabled black ship bore down upon him, rapidly changed his mind about resistance of any sort, and quickly had the crew hoist the white flag of surrender. It appeared much too quickly for there to have been any discussion about other courses of action, and the _Trader_ smartly heaved to with her crew gathered complacently and compliantly on deck, feverishly hoping that their captain's indiscretion would not cause them greater reprisal from the pirates.

Our crew was gathered on deck as we came flank-and-flank with the _Freewind_ _Trader_, bellowing and howling in an un-Godly and daunting manner, and although I understood it merely to be a tactic of intimidation, I remembered well what it was like to be on the receiving end of those war-cries; I admit I felt sorry for the captured crew.

Quickly they swarmed to the deck of the _Trader_ by rope and by gangplanks that had been efficiently laid in place, and began herding the sailors on the merchant ship, as well as the handful of marines who had been stationed aboard to guard her, into a tightly-pressed group near the mizzen mast. Barbossa, having been the one to orchestrate the capture of the vessel, made for the stairs, intending, I am sure, to board the other ship himself. It was probable that he meant to give Carter a piece of his mind for shooting a hole in the _Pearl_, and that likely didn't bode well for Carter's long-term survival.

But, before Barbossa could reach the bottom of the stairs, Jack, who had appeared on deck again, handily grabbed a rope and swung across to the _Trader_, landing lightly and gracefully on his feet.

As for me, not knowing what else to do with myself at that moment, I quickly descended the stairs behind Barbossa, thinking to keep close to him, and I collided with the back of him as he pulled up abruptly on the last stair at the sight of seeing Jack commandeering not only the ship, but Barbossa's thunder at commandeering the ship. He snarled wordlessly and then shot me a dark look over his shoulder when I ran into him.

Turk arrived topside a moment after that, intending to join Barbossa in their first boarding together in many a year, but when he saw the look on Barbossa's face as they met up at the rail, with me trailing just behind, he understood instantly what had happened.

"Wouldn't take much to see to it that he remains on that ship when we scuttle 'er," Turk snarled quietly to Barbossa.

"I'll scuttle _him_," Barbossa spat back in an undertone. "It'd serve the blasted popinjay right."

My two companions carried on resentfully, sharing acrimonious insults and threats toward the _Pearl's_ younger captain, but while they fantasized together about colorful ways to dispose of Jack, I stood at the rail and watched him deal with his flock of captives, curious as to how he might proceed.

While Pintel, Ragetti, and the majority of the _Pearl's_ crew quickly swarmed into the depths of the _Trader_ to search for loot, several more remained on deck with Jack, keeping the prisoners, who had efficiently been disarmed, under control.

Jack strode along slowly, inspecting the small group thoughtfully.

"Where is the captain of this over-stuffed, weather-bitten heifer?" he snarled at the crew, just as he came to stand before the man who was mostly likely in charge.

"I'm the captain," Carter said, speaking up in a manner that contained a lot less arrogance once he'd come, quite literally, face to face with a pirate, and one of quite some notoriety at that.

"_You're_ the captain?" Jack asked, looking the fresh-faced young officer over with marked contempt, as the young man nodded affirmation. "Son, if I were you, I'd stick to floating toy boats in the bath," Jack said insultingly, "and leave the sailing to the men."

Carter seethed with indignation, I could tell even from where I watched from the _Black Pearl's_ rail, but although he lacked sufficient experience to deal with a raid by pirates, he was smart enough not to say to Jack what he probably would have dearly liked to.

"I assure you," Carter answered haughtily, "that I am completely qualified to..."

"To what, my good sir?" Jack asked, just as arrogantly. "To roll over and play dead, like some witless, wet-behind-the-ears pup? To cave in at the first sign of real danger, and capitulate to the demands of cutpurses? Jack gave Carter another pointed look of contempt. "You bloody lay down and hoisted your skirt faster than a drunk Tortuga whore on a slow night the week rent is due."

It took a minute for the insult to fully dawn upon Carter, who, I am sure, had never met or even seen a drunk Tortuga whore, on a slow night or otherwise, and he seethed silently with anger and embarrassment.

"What's your name, boy?" Jack inquired, still flaunting callous disrespect at the poor young man.

"Alston Carter," Carter spat back, nearly trembling with fury.

"Huh," Jack said contemptuously.

"And you are?" Carter asked scornfully.

Jack gave him a look of dark incredulity, and then shook his head in disbelief. "Come here," he said, slipping an arm around Carter's shoulders and leading him a few reluctant steps forward to the rail. "Do you see that ship there?"

"Yes," Carter replied.

"What color is her hull?" Jack asked.

"Black," said Carter.

"Uh huh, and what _color_, Captain Carter, are her sails?" Jack asked, as if he were trying to be infinitely patient with the man.

"B-black?" Carter asked, not quite sure why Jack was asking him questions with such ridiculously obvious answers, but clearly apprehensive about finding out the reasoning.

"Very good," Jack said condescendingly. "And how many ships..._pirate_ ships, I might add, with a black hull and black sails, sail the Caribbean, plundering, and pillaging and raiding festering, maggot-ridden sea-pigs like this ship here?"

"One," Carter answered, clearly beginning to fret.

"And what might be the name of that dark, ravishing beauty?" Jack asked, gesturing expansively back at the _Pearl_.

"The _Black Pearl_?" Carter croaked.

"Aye," Jack said lovingly, "the _Black Pearl_.

"Now, I have one final question for you," Jack said, tightening his grip around Carter's shoulders and pulling him right to the rail for a closer view of the ebony ship. "If _that_ is the _Black Pearl_, then who does that make me?"

"Captain Barbossa?" Carter ventured nervously.

"Bloody hell!" Jack spat with disbelief, and poor Carter found himself promptly propelled through the opening in the rail, a look of utter shock on his face as the unfortunate man went airborne. Jack cupped a hand to his ear and leaned over to listen, straightening back up with a satisfied smile upon his face when the splash was heard from below.

"Now," Jack said, whirling and sauntering back across the deck to address the rest of the gathered company, "your Captain Carter will always remember this...

"That is, if he can swim," Jack added as an afterthought and then shrugged, " ...as the day Captain Jack Sparrow sank his ship."

A lot of horrified expressions suddenly faced Jack, and he paused in puzzlement before recovering and smiling diffidently. "Apologies –perhaps that was a bit premature on my part."

Relief spread across the countenances of all the sailors before him.

"We are most decidedly _not_ at the sinking part just yet," Jack explained pleasantly, and looks of dread once more cropped up amongst the _Trader's_ crew.

Next to me, Barbossa's anger had lessened considerably at Carter's comment, and it seemed to amuse him and Turk that Jack had been more than irritated at Barbossa's name being so readily associated with the _Black Pearl_.

I must admit, if it weren't for the fact that they carried such deadly weapons and possessed a considerable amount of facial hair, I would often suspect that I was dealing with twelve-year-old boys instead of pirates when it came to the rivalry between the two captains.

Across the way on the deck of the _Trader_, Jack seemed about to address the remaining navy officer, now promoted to commander of the ship by way of Captain Carter's sudden and unexpected leave of absence, but it was at that moment that Pintel and Ragetti appeared topside again, gleefully cackling and bringing forth three prisoners they had found below decks.

A sense of déjà vu coursed through my veins as I watched three women, passengers aboard the EITC ship, being dragged before Jack Sparrow, clearly terrified, and if it weren't for the fact that I was currently incognito as a cabin boy on the _Black Pearl_, I would have very much liked to have gone to reassure them that no harm would befall them.

My fingers brushed Barbossa's ever so slightly to get his attention. "You won't let anything happen to them, will you?" I asked, clearly pointing out that I felt they should be left unmolested.

"Is it yer wish they be left unharmed?" Barbossa asked softly without looking directly at me. I could hear the subtle playfulness in his words, which echoed the question he'd asked me the day we'd raided the unlucky _Essex_ not so long ago.

"It is," I replied, answering in the same manner I had before.

"Then no harm shall come to them, m'lady," he said softly, flirting with me a little as he gave me his most charming, roguish smile, "since that be yer wish."

I'm afraid I must have met his gaze with one of unabashed adoration at his words, until I saw Turk roll his eyes at the two of us over Barbossa's shoulder. When I glanced at him he made a gesture as if to gag himself with a finger, quickly recovering, however, and adopting a neutral expression when Barbossa turned to see what he was doing.

Our attention was once again caught by the small drama that was playing out on the deck of the _Freewind Trader_, where Pintel and Ragetti had ushered the three women before Jack at the point of a sword.

"Look wot we found below, Cap'n," Pintel sneered, "tryin' to hide in the holds."

"Tryin' to hide," Ragetti echoed with a gleeful cackle, indicating the three captives redundantly.

There, still in their nightclothes, since the raid had occurred just at the break of day, were three women of varying ages; clearly they were two younger women and a chaperone of some sort.

The first, a young woman of perhaps eighteen or nineteen years, and of notable beauty, stood there completely aghast at what was happening on board her ship. She seemed to be doing her best to hide behind the voluminous cascade of red curls that fell to her waist, clearly wishing she could disappear from the roving eyes of the pirates on deck.

The second, obviously the woman's younger sister by the looks of her hair and her fair complexion, was a girl of perhaps fourteen, pretty for sure, but without quite the mature figure and features yet of her older sibling. I had no doubt from looking at her that she would someday be at least as fetching as her sister. Interestingly enough, while I expected the child to be more frightened than the older women, she clearly possessed a fair measure of morbid curiosity, and watched the goings-on aboard the ship with rapt fascination.

The third woman, clearly a nanny or governess of some sort for the two sisters, was a woman of considerable age, stature and bulk, and although also frightened, it appeared to be that her fear was mostly for her charges, and not necessarily for herself, by the way she protectively clutched each of the girls by a shoulder and glared at the pirates around her.

Jack, looking to kill time while the ship was being looted, and having an audience of the feminine kind, sauntered over to the threesome, clearly with his sights set on the fetching older sister.

"Well, and here we clearly have the rarest and loveliest gems aboard this vessel," he said, instantly cordial, and he favored the three women with one of his charming, boyish grins. This caused the older sister to timidly hide more behind her hair, the younger sister to grin with delight, and the governess to frown heavily and darkly as she pulled her charges back against herself.

Next to me, Barbossa huffed as Jack began flirting with the women across the way. "Feh! Blasted preening popinjay! There's work as needs be done and he's wastin' time struttin' about fer that piece of skirt."

Turk and I each raised an eyebrow at Barbossa's comment, and then the large bo'sun grinned. "I have a question fer yeh, Barbossa," he began, gaining his irritated captain's attention. "The night we raided the _Essex_," he began, "erm, the _first_ time, while the lot of us was heavin' boxes an' crates an' the like across to the _Rogue_, what were yeh doin'?"

Barbossa frowned for a moment, and at the same time it dawned on him, it dawned on me; he'd been busy making conversation and flirting a bit with the three women onboard that night.

"Yeh were strutting around like top peacock in front of some sweet little hens," Turk accused him gleefully.

Barbossa, chagrinned for less than a heartbeat, quickly recovered and retorted. "'Twas not to be helped, Master Turk," he said smoothly, "with the temptation of all that golden hair; I was unable to help bein' smitten by her rare beauty."

While I admit that Barbossa's charming comment managed, despite the fact that I knew it to be contrived for his benefit, to score a few points with me, I also knew, whether he cared to admit it or not, that the night we met, it was not only my fair hair that had caught his attention. He'd been cordial and charming, that was true, but he'd also been busy evaluating the assets of my two female companions as well as mine, and during those first horrid and fearful moments of meeting one of the most feared rogues in the Caribbean, I recall vaguely feeling like an item on a very short menu being scrutinized by a rapacious predator.

"Oh, _right_," Turk said, clearly not buying into Barbossa's version of the events that night. "Like you wasn't busy lookin' over three fine sets of..."

Turk's blatantly frank statement was interrupted by a cry from the _Freewind Trader_.

"How _dare_ you!"

The outburst came from the older woman as she dragged her charges back against her more tightly, after Jack had apparently tried to make conversation with the fetching older sister.

"Here, what's your name, love?" he'd asked, gently sweeping her hair away from her face, and provoking the outraged words from her governess.

Jack frowned at the old matron. "Don't get your petticoats in a bunch, grandma," he said flippantly, then returning his attention to the pretty young woman. "So, first time meeting a pirate, eh? You, my dears, have the pleasure and the privilege of making the acquaintance of..."

"You're Jack Sparrow," the younger sister chimed in knowledgably, unthinkingly snuffing out Jack's grand introduction.

Jack turned a dark look on her. "Captain," he admonished her, "it's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"You're the pirate who sank the _Endeavor_," the young red head continued.

"Yes," Jack said impatiently, "I..."

"And you sacked Nassau port without firing a single shot," she added, before Jack could finish his sentence.

"You are correct, young miss," Jack said, "and not only..."

She interrupted him again. "You raided three Spanish galleons with only one ship," she said admiringly.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Jack said with a light laugh, clearly pleased with himself.

Next to me Barbossa and Turk both rolled their eyes.

"See there?" Jack asked, once more turning his attention to the older sister. "You're standing before a notorious scoundrel and gentleman of fortune - the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea at your service, milady." Jack then made the mistake of catching up the nervous girl's hand and pressing it to his lips in a gallant and cocksure gesture as the girl looked scandalized, and her guardian's eyes went wide with horror.

Watching the oldest woman's reaction, I couldn't help but be reminded of my father's sleepy old mastiff bitch who spent her days slumbering harmlessly next to the fireplace, unless she happened catch wind of one of the foxes in the henhouse; she would instantly rouse herself, springing to her feet, growling menacingly, and propelling her considerable bulk along with a speed that was both surprising and dangerous.

Such was the manner in which the matron responded, moving faster than anyone would have suspected, and before Jack even knew what hit him, he had staggered back two or three paces, his hat knocked off and the back of his hand pressed against his lip where the hefty governess' fist had made powerful contact.

"Ha!" Barbossa couldn't contain his amused outburst, and Jack shot him a poisonous look from the other ship before snarling at Pintel and Ragetti.

"Restrain that prisoner!" Jack said, indicating the furious large woman, and each of them took a step toward her.

"'Ere now, grandma," Pintel said with a wicked smirk, "settle down and we won't hurt you none..."

He never got a chance to say anything else as the woman quickly stomped on his foot, causing him to hop around in agony, cursing in a most ungentlemanly way.

Ragetti stepped in to try to grab her, and she connected her beefy, ring-laden fist with his nose, sending him reeling. "Me nose!" he cried, grabbing for it just as his newest wooden eye popped out of place, plunking onto the deck and rolling away. "Me eye!" He scurried after it, blood running down the hand that he had plastered over his nose.

'Grandma' then decked the barely-recovered Pintel, sending him sprawling against the rail, bloodied as well, and would have continued disabling the crew of the _Black Pearl_, I am sure, were it not for the faint click of the pistol that Jack was suddenly pointing at the head of the fetching older daughter. She instantly put down her meaty fists and very quickly was wringing her hands with concern for the sister Jack had grabbed.

"There's a good lass," Jack said in a soft but dangerous voice, looking pointedly at the governess, while the young woman in his grasp looked as if she might crumple to the deck if he were to let go of her. A quick glance around the deck told him that things were progressing quickly as the crew relieved the _Trader_ of her valuables with practiced efficiency.

"Now," he said, putting the pistol away but not relinquishing his grasp of the ashen-faced girl. "Seeing as how you have clearly been the cause of _this_," he continued, pointing to the swollen area of his lower lip, "it would only seem fitting that you make amends for the affront."

Wide-eyed and horrified, the girl took Jack's meaning and waxed paler than she already was as Jack pulled her closer, his dark gaze upon her trembling lips. She struggled feebly against him when she realized that he was going to steal a kiss, the very picture of a weak and helpless damsel in distress.

It appeared that Jack was having as much trouble keeping her on her feet as anything, as she appeared faint, and then her younger sister, clearly the one of the pair with the heartier constitution, spoke up as she peered past Jack at the rigging of the _Black Pearl_.

"Why is there a dress flying from the mast of your ship?" she asked, clearly puzzled.

"That," Jack said, still struggling with the overly dramatic girl in his arms, and thinking to coax some compliance from her, "is all that is left of the last woman who refused to kiss me."

With that statement, the girl in his arms gave one last horrified gasp and swooned completely, slipping through Jack's grasp to hit the deck at his feet heavily.

"Bloody hell," he swore, clearly frustrated with the over-delicate creature at his feet. His attention didn't rest on her long, as at that moment the large governess, her nerves overwrought by trying to defend her charges from pirates and watching the older sister faint, promptly collapsed to the deck, making a considerably larger thud than the young woman.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine ~*~

~~o~~

_"There's a good lass," Jack said in a soft but dangerous voice, looking pointedly at the governess, while the young woman in his grasp looked as if she might crumple to the deck if he were to let go of her. A quick glance around the deck told him that things were progressing quickly as the crew relieved the Trader of her valuables with practiced efficiency._

_"Now," he said, putting the pistol away but not relinquishing his grasp of the ashen-faced girl. "Seeing as how you have clearly been the cause of this," he continued, pointing to the swollen area of his lower lip, "it would only seem fitting that you make amends for the affront."_

_Wide-eyed and horrified, the girl took Jack's meaning and waxed paler than she already was as Jack pulled her closer, his dark gaze upon her trembling lips. She struggled feebly against him when she realized that he was going to steal a kiss, the very picture of a weak and helpless damsel in distress._

_It appeared that Jack was having as much trouble keeping her on her feet as anything, as she appeared faint, and then her younger sister, clearly the one of the pair with the heartier constitution, spoke up as she peered past Jack at the rigging of the Black Pearl._

_"Why is there a dress flying from the mast of your ship?" she asked, clearly puzzled._

_"That," Jack said, still struggling with the overly dramatic girl in his arms, and thinking to coax some compliance from her, "is all that is left of the last woman who refused to kiss me."_

_With that statement, the girl in his arms gave one last horrified gasp and swooned completely, slipping through Jack's grasp to hit the deck at his feet heavily._

_"Bloody hell," he swore, clearly frustrated with the over-delicate creature at his feet. His attention didn't rest on her long, as at that moment the large governess, her nerves overwrought by trying to defend her charges from pirates and watching the older sister faint, promptly collapsed to the deck, making a considerably larger thud than the young woman._

_~~o~~_

By that point in time, my two companions were sniggering like schoolboys at the rail next to me, and Barbossa actually had to put a hand on my wrist to stay my reflexive attempt at crossing to aid the fallen women.

"They'll be fine, lass," he said, "although clearly not made of as sturdy stuff as another female captive I've heard tell of."

At last the crew was done raiding the ship, and Jack had stalked back across one of the gangplanks, clearly miffed at his roguish attempts at wooing the captured woman being thwarted by her frail nerves, and not bothering with the more dramatic crossing by rope.

Barbossa met him with a smirk, and Jack merely sneered and headed for the quarterdeck, calling for Gibbs to give the orders to scuttle the unfortunate _Freewind Trader_.

Horrified that the crew and the passengers had not even been given time to evacuate the ship, I grabbed at Barbossa's sleeve. "You promised me that no harm would befall them," I said anxiously.

"May, the ship needs to be scuttled," Barbossa replied firmly. "It's too much of a risk to leave them intact so close to Isla Perdida."

"But the women on board!" I cried, glancing at where the three were huddled together on deck. "They might not get off in time!" It was clear that the crew of the _Trader_ was frantically trying to lower the boats before our crew manned our guns.

"'Tis a shame, I'll admit, but there's naught fer it," he replied, turning and nodding at Turk, indicating that he should prepare the gun crews to destroy the hapless ship.

Furious that my wishes were being brushed aside so callously, I admit that I did the next of a handful of foolish things that I have done in my time spent among pirates. The second Barbossa had his back turned, I dashed for the nearest remaining gangplank and scrambled, a bit ungracefully, I admit, across to the doomed _Trader_.

Turk was the one that spotted me first.

"May, what the bloody hell are yeh doin?" he roared, quickly focusing Barbossa's attention on where I was climbing over the rail of the enemy vessel. Since I speak no more than a handful of words in Portuguese, I am unable to report what exactly it was that Barbossa said at that moment, but I rather suspect that even had his torrent of curses been in English, that it would embarrass me to repeat them here.

"Jack!" was the first comprehensible thing out of Barbossa's mouth, and he pointed across to where I was rushing to help the three women, once he'd gotten Jack's attention at the helm.

Jack does not speak Portuguese, and I unfortunately understood every curse he snarled at me vehemently, including some incoherent mutterings and quite impolite things about women.

The governess and younger sister were still huddled around the prone form of the older sister, whose swoon had carried on dramatically for the past few moments. They only noticed me approaching at the last moment, and forgetting that I was dressed as the _Pearl's_ cabin boy, I was at first unprepared for the looks of concern that the two shot me when I dashed their way.

"Move," I said, quickly kneeling by the collapsed girl, and brushing the governess' hands aside.

"You're a woman!" the younger sister exclaimed.

"And a doctor," I said, checking the pulse of my unlikely patient and seeing that it was steady and strong. Her color was fine as well, and I decided that it was high time that she got back on her feet. "Get up!" I ordered her, and in case the urgency in my voice wasn't enough to rouse her, I slid an arm under her shoulders and tried to pull her into a sitting position.

She moaned and delicately wiped her brow as she came to, affecting a fragile air she clearly thought befitting a proper young lady of good breeding. "Come on, get up! Quickly! They're going to destroy the ship and you need to get off immediately!" I ordered her sharply.

The young woman now in my care stared at me with blank horror, and very much looked as if she might faint again at the thought. I admit that I was desperate at that moment to get her moving; when her eyelids began to flutter again and she began to slump once more to the deck, I did the only thing I could think to do: I slapped her soundly.

Shocked though she was, the sting across her cheek brought about the desired effect, and her younger sister, who appeared to be suppressing an amused smirk, and I hauled the delicate flower to her feet and headed for the nearest boat with the governess hot on our heels, wringing her hands and fretting. As we drew near the rail, the older sister took one look at where we were all expecting her to climb, and wailed in protest.

"I can't possibly go in _that_," she cried, pointing to the longboat.

I had no time to argue with her, and was keenly aware of the irritated looks of two Pirate Lords focused on what I was doing from the _Black Pearl_, while they waited impatiently for me to get off the _Trader_.

"Look," I said, grabbing her and shaking her once, "look there!" I pointed at the hoard of hostile-looking pirates on the deck of the _Pearl_. "The only reason they haven't blown this ship to bits is because I am standing here next to you. The second I leave those cannons will fire repeatedly until there is nothing left but smoke and ash. You will get in that boat and get in that boat _now_, and I don't want to hear another word from you!"

Shocked into cooperative submission by my orders, and clearly deciding that the lesser of two evils was climbing into the waiting boat rather than facing the wrath of a buccaneer surgeon, the older sister shot me an indignant look and then climbed unsteadily down to where two crewmen held it still for her. The governess wouldn't budge until the younger sister did likewise, and at last, after sharing a look with me that held equal measures of puzzlement and thanks, she squeezed her great mass through the gap in the rail and lowered herself into the boat, nearly swamping it as she dropped in.

Once it was apparent that my charges were clear of the ship, I wasted no time in getting back aboard the _Pearl_, knowing that I was in enough trouble already.

"Bloody effin' hell!" Turk was saying, giving me an exasperated look. "And yeh wonder why it is that we think it's a bad idea havin' a woman aboard a ship."

I patted his damaged arm affectionately. "You thought it was a good idea before," I reminded him.

"Nah," he replied with a grin and a shake of his head. "A doctor, yes; a woman, no. S'not my fault yeh happen to be both, or that Barbossa apparently feels the benefits outweigh the disadvantages." The manner in which he emphasized _benefits_ made my cheeks burn, and his grin broadened for a moment before he went below to his gun crew.

Barbossa strode up to me at that moment and grabbed me by my shirtfront, dragging me face to face. "Did ye not realize that disobeying orders carries a severe punishment?" he growled softly, but I could see the twinkle of mischief in the blue eyes. "Another little exploit like that and ye'll answer directly to me."

"If you say so, sir," I replied back with mock solemnity.

"That I do," he replied, and the next thing I knew he had kissed me soundly and let go, heading aft to the quarterdeck.

"S'not much of a punishment," Ragetti, who was standing close by with Pintel, overseeing the stowing of our plunder, commented sarcastically.

"I dunno," Pintel replied, "the thought of kissin' Barbossa might be enough to keep the most unruly pirate in line if'n yeh ask me."

Both pirates sniggered boyishly, and I rolled my eyes at them and turned away, just in time to witness the first volley of gunfire pound the unfortunate _Freewind Trader_. It wasn't long before she was a floundering shell, smoking and sinking steadily below the waves while a small number of boats containing some of her former crew and passengers looked solemnly on.

I turned away, unable to look at the remains of the smoking wreck, or at the handful of people that had made it off and were now left to the mercy of the ocean and their wits. At least the three women had been saved, but little did I realize at that moment, that when I'd seen to it that they'd escaped a violent and watery grave, that I'd sealed my own fate as well as theirs.

~~o~~

I'm not entirely certain that the island the _Black Pearl_ anchored at later in the day even has a proper name. It really didn't seem large enough to bother with such a formality. All that mattered to the crew and to the captains was that it was _the _island we'd been destined for, and that meant re-gaining possession of both Morgan's Map and the chart to the Fountain of Youth.

Of course, it was no surprise that both captains insisted upon going ashore that afternoon, for neither trusted the other to remain in command of the _Pearl_ while the other was on the island, and likewise, neither wished the other to be solely entrusted with recovery of the maps without being present himself.

As for me, I went ashore with the small landing party simply so that I might feel my feet upon solid ground again, after the weeks I'd spent continually aboard the ship. Pintel and Ragetti rowed the boat the captains and I were in, and two others full of crewmen accompanied us to search for water to replenish our supplies while the maps were being recovered. Barbossa and Sparrow had respectively each left Turk and Gibbs behind to watch over the _Pearl_, and also to likely watch over each other in their captains' absence.

It was a relief for me when the small boat ground into the sand of the shallows, and I followed the pirates ashore, taking the hand that Barbossa offered to help me out of the boat. As soon as the rest of the crew had organized themselves into search parties and headed off to look for fresh water, Barbossa spun upon Jack.

"Now," he began in a tone that said it meant business, "we'll not be wastin' any time, Jack. I want the _Pearl_ on its way before sundown and not laid out in that cove like a sittin' black duck. I won't feel easy until we've left these accursed waters behind, so let's hear where the maps are."

Jack nodded solemnly and then made a great show of scrutinizing the shoreline and the trees for several minutes.

"Well, where are they?" Barbossa demanded brusquely.

"Give me a moment," Jack replied, walking away and examining a rock formation carefully, "I need to remember how I did this."

I watched alongside Barbossa as Jack considered the rocks, the trees, and the general lay of the land, wondering what was taking him so long. While it appeared that he was making sure of certain landmarks that he must have used when previously hiding the maps, it became apparent after a moment or two that he was furtively glancing at something he held in his hand. Barbossa didn't miss that point either, and he strode up to Jack impatiently.

"Just what is it that yeh have there?" he demanded, and Jack started and unsuccessfully tried to conceal what appeared to be a small piece of paper.

"Nothing."

"Nothin', my arse," Barbossa snarled, and he held his hand out in an insistent gesture.

Jack gazed at Barbossa's outstretched leather-clad palm for a moment, and then sighed resignedly. He placed a ragged sheet of paper in the other captain's hand.

"What be this?" Barbossa asked, unfolding it as he gave Jack a look of great suspicion.

"Directions," Jack muttered, somewhat sheepishly.

Barbossa snarled wordlessly. "So, you knew all along how to find them. You were plannin' on sharin' this, I reckon?"

Jack grinned and shrugged. "Of course."

"Of course," Barbossa repeated, little mirth contained in the smile he offered back. "You won't mind then, if the good doctor and I read this?"

Jack shrugged again cavalierly. "Be my guest, Hector."

Barbossa turned at that point to share the contents of the scrap of paper with me, and I peered over his arm at what was written.

_Three trees, two rocks, one brown._

Both Barbossa and I instinctively looked up and scrutinized the tree line. It took us only a moment to find the landmark that Jack's writing had indicated, but the next thing I knew, both Pintel and Ragetti were leaning over my shoulder, scrutinizing the instructions curiously despite the fact that one couldn't, and one could barely read.

_East, twenty paces, two broken trees._

We all looked to the right, and there were the ones indicated in the instructions.

"Well, let's not be wastin' time," Barbossa said to Jack, as he headed for the two fallen trunks.

Jack waved him off indignantly. "It appears that you have plenty of help already," he sneered softly. "Certainly you don't need me." He then sat down in a huff on a large rock, his attitude obviously that of a petulant child.

Barbossa glared at him for a moment, and then apparently decided that Jack leaving him to find the maps himself was a perfectly acceptable notion.

"Fine," he snarled back.

"Fine." Jack then made an effort to pointedly ignore us, and Barbossa returned the favor, scrutinizing the paper once more.

_North, ten by ten._

"Come, lass," Barbossa said to me, giving Jack's back one last caustic look and then leading Pintel, Ragetti, and me to stand before the two fallen trees. "North, one hundred paces." He then strode into the woods, counting off the required number of steps until we arrived at a spot deep in the jungle.

_West, nine by nine._

Eighty-one paces later, having followed Barbossa as he hacked his way through the dense foliage with his sword, we were that much closer to the maps.

"What does it say next?" Pintel asked anxiously.

_North, eight by eight_, was printed next on the list.

Ten steps later we found ourselves slogging through ankle-deep water covered in a foul-smelling green scum, and as we continued on across it for sixty-four paces, I was thankful that I still wore my riding attire and hadn't attempted the trek in a dress.

We turned left in the middle of the small swamp, following the instructions of _West, seven by seven,_ each step taking us closer to the maps we had journeyed so far to regain, or so we thought...

Half an hour and many mosquito bites later, we turned south for the third time, having zigzagged our way through the smelly marsh and then through more dense undergrowth that had left leafy remnants in our hair and on our clothes. A bit breathless from the heat and the humidity we'd battled through as well as the jungle, the four of us halted for a break before consulting the next step.

"We must be nearly there," Pintel said, wiping his glistening forehead with the back of his hand once again. "There aren't many directions left."

In fact, I could see that there were fewer than half a dozen lines left in Jack's hasty scrawl at the bottom of the page I peered at. Barbossa seemed to be having trouble deciphering the chicken scratch that was the next instruction.

"I don't understand it," Ragetti chimed in, waving one lanky arm about his head haphazardly to try to keep mosquitoes from landing on him. "Why did 'e write all this down?"

Pintel rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation, clearly disgusted with his nephew's foolishness. "So 'e could remember where 'e left the map when 'e came back," he sneered sarcastically.

Ragetti, undaunted by his irritable counterpart, commented once again. "Well, why didn't 'e jus use 'is compass if'n 'e wanted to find them?" His expression was genuinely one of puzzlement.

The only sound that could be heard for the next several seconds was that of the swarming mosquitoes, as delayed comprehension fell upon Barbossa, and his expression darkened dangerously.

"Sparrow!" he snarled under his breath, and the next thing I knew he'd done an about-face and was crashing and hacking through the foliage in a straight line that headed directly back in the direction of the beach we'd left a short while ago.

Pintel and Ragetti looked to me for some manner of explanation, but seeing as I had none to offer, I merely shrugged and followed the path of destruction through the undergrowth that marked where Barbossa had gone. Both of them fell in behind me, and it wasn't long before we were breaking through the trees, perhaps twenty feet from where Barbossa was storming across the sand.

Although I hadn't understood what it was about Ragetti's question that had suddenly infuriated the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, it didn't take me long to figure things out.

There, on the beach, propped up against a log in the shade, and clearly well on his way to the bottom of a bottle of rum, was Jack, a smirk plastered across his face at the thought of the wild goose chase he'd sent us on while he'd quickly retrieved the two maps which now lay together by his side.

~~o~~

A/N: Clearly there's a bit of Arthur Conan Doyle in Jack's directions, what with all the writing I've been doing recently for _A Study in Rum_. :D


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

~~o~~

_"I don't understand it," Ragetti chimed in, waving one lanky arm about his head haphazardly to try to keep mosquitoes from landing on him. "Why did 'e write all this down?"_

_Pintel rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation, clearly disgusted with his nephew's foolishness. "So 'e could remember where 'e left the map when 'e came back," he sneered sarcastically._

_Ragetti, undaunted by his irritable counterpart, commented once again. "Well, why didn't 'e jus use 'is compass if'n 'e wanted to find them?" His expression was genuinely one of puzzlement_.

_The only sound that could be heard for the next several seconds was that of the swarming mosquitoes, as delayed comprehension fell upon Barbossa, and his expression darkened dangerously._

_"Sparrow!" he snarled under his breath, and the next thing I knew he'd done an about-face and was crashing and hacking through the foliage in a straight line that headed directly back in the direction of the beach we'd left a short while ago._

_Pintel and Ragetti looked to me for some manner of explanation, but seeing as I had none to offer, I merely shrugged and followed the path of destruction through the undergrowth that marked where Barbossa had gone. Both of them fell in behind me, and it wasn't long before we were breaking through the trees, perhaps twenty feet from where Barbossa was storming across the sand._

_Although I hadn't understood what it was about Ragetti's question that had suddenly infuriated the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, it didn't take me long to figure things out._

_There, on the beach, propped up against a log in the shade, and clearly well on his way to the bottom of a bottle of rum, was Jack, a smirk plastered across his face at the thought of the wild goose chase he'd sent us on while he'd quickly retrieved the two maps which now lay together by his side._

_~~o~~_

There is little doubt in my mind that given the proper chance, Jack would have normally grabbed the maps while Barbossa was preoccupied, dashed off in a longboat as soon as he could, taken the _Pearl _and been gone. However, that would have meant not only marooning Barbossa, but the crew members who had not yet completed their task of replenishing the ship's water supplies, as well as the ship's surgeon. It also meant, more significantly, that he would have had to face Turk, Barbossa's insurance back aboard the _Pearl _against such things happening. Despite the lack of part of an arm, I would venture to say that there were few pirates onboard, including Jack Sparrow, who would care to risk the ire of the surly, large bo'sun.

Jack also knew that he faced little risk of being left behind himself this time, probably because he was counting on me protesting such inhumane treatment of any member of the ship's company. Had I needed to demand that Jack not be left behind, it might have carried little weight with many of the pirates of the crew, but Jack knew that it would potentially influence the one pirate who mattered most when it came to such decisions.

Not much was said as we all finally returned to the ship. Jack briefly nodded off in an unconcerned manner, while Barbossa glared at him the entire way back to the _Pearl_, most likely debating if he could tip Jack out of the longboat before he was awake enough to realize what was happening.

Once we were all back aboard, the two captains gave orders for the anchors to be weighed, and issued a heading once more. Everyone was anxious to get back out to open sea where we would be at less risk should be encounter any navy vessels that frequented the waters thereabout. Jack and Barbossa, accompanied by Gibbs and Turk, headed for the cabin to discuss a plan now that the maps had both been recovered, and I stayed on deck, feeling non-too anxious to be stuck in the middle of the debates that would probably be waged for some time before a consensus was reached.

I was standing at the rail a short while after the _Black Pearl _had gotten back underway, when I was approached by Cisco Rabara.

"_Buenos dias_," he said cheerfully, coming to stand by the rail at my side. "I hear you were successful at recovering the maps. The crew is very excited."

"I imagine they would be," I replied, probably with less enthusiasm than Rabara expected.

"And yet you do not share in this excitement?" he asked. "When we find the treasure, we will all be very, very rich, Doctor Gray. And once we find the Fountain, ah, well, then Barbossa will be a very lucky man."

"How so?" I inquired.

"Who else among the crew will have such a rare beauty to walk by his side through the ages?" Rabara asked.

I might have found his mild flirtation charming, if it weren't for the fact that he'd taken a step too close for my liking and reached out to brush a few wayward strands of my hair off of my forehead. I immediately turned to look out over the rail.

"Who says that I wish anything to do with the Fountain?"

"Who wouldn't?" he asked. "Does the thought of immortality not tempt you?"

"It goes against the way things were intended by nature," I replied firmly.

Rabara laughed softly. "Only a doctor would speak this way. And what will you do, Madeline, if Barbossa chooses to drink the water; will you follow?"

"I don't know."

It was the absolute truest answer I had. So much time had been spent speculating about, and then endeavoring to recover the maps, that Barbossa and I had never actually discussed what would happen should we be successful in finding the Fountain of Youth, if it really existed at all.

Morgan's treasure was another thing altogether. Barbossa already knew that I was firmly against taking a share of any ill-gained wealth, but it meant little as his share and a half of what supposedly was at the end of the enigmatic trail the map provided would keep him, and us, I supposed, wealthy for a very long time.

The decision being debated in the cabin at that moment was which map to follow first, and I suspected that the one thing the two pirate captains might agree upon would be heading for Florida.

"Do you think the captains will set a course for the Fountain first?" Rabara asked, echoing my own thoughts.

"I believe so." My answer was brief as I began to contemplate why it was that Rabara was so excited by the prospect of finding the Fountain, when earlier in the voyage he had renounced its existence as pure myth.

"They will put it before the crew to vote, yes?" he then asked.

"I suppose," I replied.

"Ah, this will make things difficult," he said softly, looking contemplative.

I turned to face him again. "What would make you say that?"

He smiled charmingly at me. "It would seem the obvious choice is to find the Fountain first, then we have all the time we need to seek out the treasure. But this is only for those who believe the Fountain exists."

"Some of the crew don't?" I wasn't entirely surprised to hear that was the case. I didn't quite know what I believed myself, and was beginning to wonder which of Rabara's beliefs was the real one.

"Many of them would rather have the treasure and be done with fairy tales of immortality," Rabara explained. "It should be an interesting vote; even the captains' firmest supporters may be split. Gibbs, Marty and Cotton will surely vote along with Jack."

"Yes, and Turk, Pintel and Ragetti will all vote with Barbossa," I replied, "but why does that matter? In this case Jack and Barbossa will likely vote for the same thing."

"This is true." Rabara looked thoughtful again for a moment, but as he walked away, I still felt uneasy about the conversation for some reason that I couldn't quite place my finger on.

Rabara was right about the vote. After a lengthy discussion in the great cabin about what should be done, Jack and Barbossa presented a united front to the crew, which was an exceedingly rare occurrence, and gave them the choice of heading first for the legendary Fountain and the possibility of immortality, or for hunting down the treasure that Morgan's map led to. After presenting both choices, Barbossa announced that the vote would take place at noon the next day, giving all men on board a chance to decide what he believed and what he wanted.

Sundown arrived and with it came Jack's turn as captain of the _Black Pearl_. After the crew had eaten, there were pockets of men to be found here and there, all of them debating in hushed tones what should be done and how they would vote. Occasional arguments broke out as pirates with opposing points of view began to disagree vehemently with one another, and the discussions carried on well after dark when the _Pearl _once again approached the waters of Isla Peridida. Jack had the crew make haste once more, but at least under cover of darkness, the black ship had a much lower risk of being spotted by any naval vessel in the vicinity.

The worst trouble came after midnight, when most of the crew would have normally been asleep in their hammocks, while those on duty tended to the ship. Sleeping fitfully in the small cabin after an exhausting day while Barbossa still paced restlessly in thought, I would find out very shortly just who was at the center of the turmoil brewing on deck.

A tentative knock at the door woke me from my light sleep, and Barbossa, frowning at being disturbed, yanked open the door. Hamlyn, the ornery former cook, stood on the other side, looking quite unhappy himself.

"Trouble on deck, sir," he grumbled.

"Trouble? What sort of trouble?" Barbossa demanded.

"The crew, sir. There's a mighty disagreement among them, and I'm beginnin' to hear talk of mutiny," Hamlyn said, briefly shooting me a dirty look as I sat up and pulled on my riding boots.

Barbossa's expression darkened perceptibly, even in the dim light of the small cabin. "I'll not be havin' any talk of mutiny aboard my ship!" he snarled, and he quickly pushed past Hamlyn to head topside.

Hamlyn turned on his heel and followed, while I quickly threw on my coat and hurried after them, determined to discover what was amiss on deck.

When I emerged from the companionway a moment later, I was horrified to discover the events that were unfolding in the light of a crescent moon. Most of the crew were gathered on deck, and it appeared to be in a rather orderly fashion, contrary to what Hamlyn had just told us. Their collective gaze was focused on a spot near the port rail, and my own attention was drawn there as well. I gasped when I saw Barbossa in the grip of two large pirates, and I realized that he had been ambushed when he'd emerged on deck and had been dragged near the rail. Without thinking, I ran to his side.

"Let him go!" I demanded, yanking at the arm of one of the men who restrained Barbossa. Very quickly I found myself grabbed roughly by another pirate and a knife put to my throat, effectively keeping me immobilized. A glance over my shoulder told me it was Carranzo, one of Rabara's men who had helped the day I'd performed the surgery on Sanchez.

"Easy, lass," Barbossa said calmly, although the anger that boiled beneath the surface was evident in his eyes.

"_Buenas noche_, Doctor," Rabara said to me, and I realized that he'd been standing there all along, clearly at the center of what appeared to be an impending mutiny as he echoed his pleasant greeting to me from earlier in the day. "I am pleased that you could join the rest of the crew." He gestured expansively at the company of men who were gathered together, and as my gaze swept the intimidating throng of pirates, I became aware of some very conspicuous absences.

"I see you notice there are a few missing," Rabara said softly, dark amusement present in his voice. "They were dealt with earlier, so as not to complicate things."

At the horrified look on my face, he spoke again.

"Oh, don't look so worried, they're still alive; merely indisposed at the moment in the brig," he reassured me. "They will all be given the choice later of joining us or leaving our company."

I realized at that point that Rabara must have been planning a mutiny for some time, to be carried out once the maps had been recovered, and that after his earlier conversation with me, had confirmed just which pirates were most loyal to the captains and would need to be removed, at least temporarily, to facilitate the mutiny.

"And where is Jack?" I demanded, suspicious that he might somehow be involved in disposing of Barbossa.

"Locked in his cabin with the maps and presumably asleep," Rabara replied, gesturing at Carranzo to lower the knife he held at my throat. Carranzo didn't, however, release his grasp on me as Rabara approached us. "We shall deal with him presently."

The smile Rabara wore was not a pleasant one, and he reached out and trailed his fingers across my cheek. I tried to pull away, but only succeeded in backing into Carranzo.

"We must find a way to deal with you also," he purred, "but I don't think it will be difficult to figure that out."

Barbossa tried to shrug off his two burly captors. "If you but lay a single finger on her, I'll cut every one of them off…"

Rabara's laugh interrupted Barbossa's threat.

"Sí, sí, go ahead, try," he replied, causing a wave of dark laughter to ripple through the crew. "I think I shall be keeping my fingers, _and_ the woman.

"Oh," he added, feigning an afterthought as he faced Barbossa, "and the ship. Both of your fine ladies, eh?"

If looks had the ability to kill, the one Barbossa gave Rabara would have dropped him to the deck instantly as a corpse. "May ye rot in the deepest circle of hell fer all eternity!"he spat at the Spaniard.

"I think you will arrive there well ahead of me," Rabara replied with calm amusement. His gaze then went to Barbossa's hip. "Is that a Spanish pistol, Barbossa?"

"Aye, taken from the last whore's son of yer country who dared threaten me," Barbossa snarled.

"How fitting that I take it back," Rabara replied coldly.

Before I could even register just what had happened, Rabara had reached out and drawn the pistol Barbossa always carried tucked in his belt, raised it, and pointed it at Barbossa. The pirates restraining him let go and stepped quickly out of the way when Rabara cocked the hammer. My horrified protest died on my lips as the retort of the gun sounded across the deck, and an agonized scream replaced it as the bullet struck home and the pirate I loved toppled backward over the side after the bullet's impact.

"Bastard!" I screamed, yanking free of Carranzo at last and rushing to the opening in the rail. All I could see below was the dark wake of the ship, and I had to grab the rail to steady myself as the significance of what had just happened hit me.

"Hector!" I cried out across the black water, but no reply echoed back except the sound of the waves below. Tears stung my eyes and streamed down my face, and I threw myself irrationally at Rabara, striking him as hard as I could with my fist.

Rabara wiped the small trickle of blood I had caused away from the corner of his mouth, and then stared at it on his fingers for a moment. He then glanced up at me and swung back, striking me with the back of his hand across the face hard enough that I lost my balance and fell to the deck. Before I could even attempt to get up, sharp pain exploded in my side as Rabara's boot made contact with my ribs, and I moaned in agony and curled up in a defensive position, anticipating another blow. Surprisingly it didn't come.

"No!"

The single word made me glance up, and there was Sanchez, standing over me and defying Rabara. I couldn't understand the argument the two men began having in Spanish, but as I managed to drag myself to my knees, trying desperately to catch my breath, it was clear that the argument was over me, as Sanchez became more agitated and pointed my way, shaking his head again.

Silence reigned across the deck as the two men paused in their yelling, and Rabara looked down at me after a thoughtful moment.

"I think it is a shame that another one of your patients did not fare well after your surgery, Doctor," he said softly.

"He did fine," I gasped, glancing up at Sanchez gratefully.

"Did he?" Rabara asked, and a heartbeat later Sanchez had fallen heavily to the deck next to me, shot through the head when Rabara had drawn his own pistol.

I knew there was nothing I could do for him, and even if there had been I wouldn't have had the chance; Rabara reached down and grabbed me by the arm, dragging me to my feet and then yanking me closer.

"You'll follow Barbossa soon enough," he snarled menacingly, jerking his head toward the rail, "but not before I find out just what sort of little pirate whore you are."

"Well, that's a bit selfish, isn't it?" came Jack's voice from the direction of the cabin. Everyone on deck glanced aft to see Jack leaning casually in the doorway, the pistol in his hand obviously pointed at Rabara.

"It's share and share alike aboard this ship," Jack continued, leaning off the wood and sauntering closer, "and it doesn't sound as if you're planning to share the girl."

"Do whatever you like when I'm through with her," Rabara replied, eyeing the pistol Jack wielded. "I don't really care."

"You've got things all backwards, mate," Jack said pleasantly, but his smile didn't reach his dark eyes. "The _captain _of the ship has first dibs on any spoils of victory, including those of the feminine sort. The fair doctor shall spend the night in my company, seeing as I am the captain." He swatted Rabara's hand off my arm and took hold of it himself.

"What about the rest of us?" one of the nearby pirates demanded.

"Draw lots for her tomorrow," Jack replied cavalierly, pulling me closer, "but tonight she warms the captain's bed.

"Don't say you haven't at least thought about it, love," Jack said with arrogant charm, evoking a look of incredulous horror from me.

"You're a vile wretch," I spat at him.

"True at times," he replied and then continued saucily, "but I wager you'll change your tune after tonight."

"Never," I snarled, tears of anger and despair beginning once more.

"I'm sorry, love," he said softly, with less arrogance and more kindness as he tightened his grasp on my arm, "but it's the only way. You'll forgive me later."

Before I could manage a sufficiently defiant response, Jack leaned close as if to nuzzle my neck and said the last thing I ever expected.

"Take a deep breath."

"_What?_" I asked in confusion.

By way of answer Jack shoved me roughly, and the next thing I knew I found myself airborne. Seconds later the dark water below the ship had closed over my head.

~~o~~


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One 

~~o~~

The deep breath which Jack had advised me to take was quite involuntary as I gasped when I found nothing but open air below my feet, and thankfully it meant that I had at least a little air in my lungs when I hit the water adjacent to the ship and sank rapidly beneath the waves.

It took me a moment to orient myself and, kicking hard once or twice, I managed to get my head above water in time to emerge in the churning wake of the _Black Pearl_. I struggled to keep from being swamped and pushed under again for a moment or two, with the innate desire to survive which is present in all humans overriding my terror and overwhelming sense of helplessness. Treading dark water, I watched as the ship pulled steadily away, leaving me very, very alone.

As much as I wanted to cry and lament my losses, I quickly found that sobbing makes treading water a good deal more difficult, and I forced myself to fight back the tears that fell as so many insignificant salty drops into the vast and endless sea around me.

Twice more, with only the sounds of the waves around me, I called for Barbossa into the quiet night, again with no reply. Knowing then that I was completely alone, I recognized the fact that the not-so-distant Isla Perdida was my only hope of survival. Although the far side of the island was known to harbor a British naval outpost, I thought that I would be safe enough for the night on the leeward shores, although I really had no choice left open to me.

I struck out for the dark mass of the island in the distance, setting a regular, steady pace as I began to swim. Although the island was not far off, distances at sea, especially at night, can be deceiving, and I knew I was in for a longer swim than it would first seem.

Although I swam as though in a trance, losing myself in the rhythm of my strokes and the single task I had to accomplish to survive, I did at least think to offer small thanks for the fact that I had been wearing riding breeches and boots, and not a layered, bulky, and heavy gown which would have been impossible to stay afloat in for very long, never mind swim very far while wearing.

It also occurred to me, as I gave myself a respite from my labors and tread water again for a moment, although I was in a difficult situation, that I did, in fact, owe Jack my life. Although he had appeared cocksure and in control of affairs when he'd taken me by the arm, clearly he recognized the hopelessness of the situation at hand, and that the only chance he had of keeping me from the clutches of the Spanish pirates and their intent to put me to ill use was to get me off the ship as soon as possible. Jack had rapidly weighed the poor options and had chosen the lesser of two great evils for me.

I wondered, as I took up swimming again toward the distant, dark outline of land, what would become of Jack, since his actions would certainly displease Rabara and his allies, and those who might be loyal to Jack were locked away in the dank bowels of the mighty _Pearl._ It occurred to me at that moment that Jack had put his own life in jeopardy to give me the slim chance I had of survival, and that that cursed night would very well mean the loss of another man who was becoming dear to me as a friend. The thought of losing Barbossa, Jack, and possibly Turk and the others became overwhelming at that moment, and I was forced to tread water once more as I tried to marshal control of the tears that had come again unbidden. Finally, realizing that I very likely would drown if I didn't stay focused on my task, I managed to overcome the wave of hopelessness, telling myself that I would take advantage of the chance that Jack had probably sacrificed his life to give me. I kept forcing away the image of Jack Sparrow lying on the black deck in a pool of his own blood, as well as that of Barbossa being shot and disappearing into the night sea, and concentrated on reaching, stroke by stroke, for the distant shore.

As time wore slowly away, so did my strength, and although it was obvious that Isla Perdida had drawn closer, it was also apparent that I was tiring at a more rapid rate the longer I swam. I had covered perhaps two-thirds of the distance, but I estimated that more than that amount of my strength had been used up. Treading water again to rest, I found that even that minimal effort was taxing my reserves.

It was at that moment that I realized that something was in the water with me; it was a short distance away and heading slowly for me. I didn't know whether to stay as still as I could and hope whatever manner of creature it was would pass me by, or if I should use the last of my strength to swim as fast as I could away from the approaching possible threat. Images of sharks sprang to mind, and I knew that it would be impossible for me to out-swim one. Facing one head-on in the dark water did not feel like a viable alternative, but there was a slim chance that I might be able to strike it or stab it with the knife stuck in my belt. The small blade seemed a poor weapon against such a fearsome creature, but there was no other alternative. I drew the knife and waited, my heart pounding and the muscles of my arms and legs beginning to burn from the prolonged effort of swimming so far, as the shadow in the night waves drew closer.

"You're not going to get any closer to shore just floating there staring at me," came a familiar voice.

"Jack!" I nearly began to weep with relief at the realization that he was alive and that I was no longer completely alone in that dark sea. "Thank God it's you. I feared you were a shark. What happened?"

"Time for talking later, Maddie," he replied, as seriously as I had ever heard him speak. "We need to get to the island before we do encounter any fang'd fishies in this water, and then I can explain. Keep swimming and please do be quiet."

Jack's company buoyed my dismal spirits enough that I found a small well of endurance to tap, and for perhaps the next quarter hour, we swam side by side, slowly but steadily toward the nearing dark shore. Eventually, though, even that reserve began to wane, and Jack thankfully noticed that I was falling further behind him with each agonizing stroke.

He tread water for a moment to let me catch up, recognizing that I was beginning to get into trouble.

"It's not far, dearie," he said, sounding quite tired himself. "Slow and steady now –just concentrate on one stroke at a time."

I tried for a while, but states of exhaustion, both physical and mental, were overtaking me, and I stopped again with despair and panic beginning to rear their ugly heads.

Jack stopped again with me.

"As much as you might make a lovely addition to young Captain Turner's crew aboard the _Flying Dutchman_, I'd prefer to see you standing on that shore," he said, nodding once at the beach, "with those wet clothes of yours clinging to you in all the right places, of course." He managed the tiniest brief grin, and then sobered again quickly. "Small steps, Maddie –swim twenty strokes with me and then we'll rest again."

"That won't get us very far," I lamented, my depression deepening despite Jack's faint attempt at levity.

"True enough, but it'll be closer than we are now. Come on."

Jack counted out twenty strokes as we swam, and I then he let me rest again.

"There," he said with worn cheer, "we're making progress."

Glancing at the shadowed beach that seemed miles away, my spirits began sinking faster.

"We're hardly any closer, Jack," I groaned.

"Hardly closer is better than no closer," Jack quipped. "Come on, twenty more strokes, love."

I did as Jack asked, and struggled to pull myself that short distance through the water before stopping to rest again. By that point, though, even treading water was becoming an effort that gave me little respite from actually swimming. After a moment of waiting quietly by my side, Jack spoke again.

"Twenty more," he said softly, taking a first stroke toward the island and expecting me to do likewise.

"I can't," I replied, obviously sounding defeated and clearly on the verge of crying.

"That is an order, Doctor!" Jack snapped harshly at me. I was so stunned by the stern directive coming from the misfit pirate, that I held back my tears and counted out the next twenty strokes in my head.

"Very good, now twenty more," Jack ordered again, not quite as harshly. I complied once more, but every muscle in my arms and legs burned and protested, and I was only able to cover half the distance before I had to stop. It was at that moment, after glancing at the expanse of dark water between us and the shore, that I became fairly certain I was about to drown. I struggled to keep my head above water and felt panic setting in as it become harder to do so. I had no control over the sob that suddenly escaped me, and I began to cry in earnest at the hopelessness of my situation.

Fortunately, Jack recognized the distress I was in, and swam to my side, putting an arm around me to help buoy me up.

"Bloody hell," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear over the sounds of the waves and my crying. "Just my luck that I get marooned again, and with a _woman_ no less."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" I gasped tearfully, clinging to Jack to try to recover some small shred of hope and of strength.

"Oh, just that I'm probably going to have to swim to that wretched shore, dragging your sorry, sweet arse the entire rest of the way," he complained. "Cursed women, always needing help; always crying when they can't keep up or do what a man can do. If you put half the effort into swimming that you are into crying, you'd be standing on that bloody shore by now."

My outright sobbing stopped, and my tears turned to those of frustration and anger. "Let go of me," I snapped at him.

"Nope," he said with an exasperated sigh, "you'll just flounder there helplessly, making piteous noises of feminine anguish, annoying me and making me wish even more that I had Gibbs or Cotton with me. I bet even Turk, towering one-armed monstrosity that he is, could swim the distance without bellyaching that it's _too far_."

Jack's tone had clearly taken on a contemptuous bite.

"Bloody females," he added in an undertone, clearly needing to add one last spiteful comment as he began swimming one-armed toward the shore, dragging me along with him.

"Get off me," I snarled, yanking back from his grasp and setting out with weak but determined strokes toward the shore. We swam in silence, slowly but surely for some moments, before I found the strength to retort.

"The reason," I said breathlessly, "that you...are better...at swimming...to shore...has nothing...to do with...the fact...that I...am a woman."

"No?" Jack asked, half disinterestedly over his shoulder, as he was swimming slightly ahead of me, but clearly staying within reach should I get into trouble again. "Then, pray tell, why is it...that you think...that I can out-swim you...if it's not for the fact...that I am a man."

"You've had...a lot more...practice," I replied pointedly.

"So I have," he replied softly, but I swore there was a measure of amusement in his voice.

Jack's tactic of motivating me by drawing the sexist card worked for a while, and when I began to seriously tire again, he changed strategies once more, telling me that if I could become a doctor and the best surgeon in the Caribbean, than surely I could swim another hundred yards to shore. Halfway there, as I struggled and he fell back to swim at my side, he gently prodded me along by telling me that Barbossa would not have wanted to see me give up.

Jack did help me through the breakers over the last few yards, and when I finally cleared the water and stood on damp sand, I would have collapsed if it hadn't been for him catching me as my knees buckled.

"Just twenty paces, love," he said, half dragging me to a dry, partially sheltered spot at the base of a great cliff. It was then that he let me down gently to sit in the dry sand, and I could tell from his voice that he too, was exhausted. "Be back in a jiff," he added, but I was too fatigued to muster the effort of asking him what he meant.

Too tired to even stay sitting, I lay down on the ground and lamented my great loss, too overcome with grief to care that I had achieved reaching the island. By that point I was too exhausted to even cry, and after vaguely wondering where Jack had gone, I recall nothing else.

I awoke a short time later, at the sensation of something tugging at my foot. When I started and tried to sit up and drag my foot back, Jack spoke reassuringly to me in a weary voice.

"No worries, love –just taking your boots off to dry. Go back to sleep."

I nodded once in vague acquiescence, realizing then that I lay next to a small, crackling fire. It occurred to me that Jack's absence must have been to gather branches and driftwood for fuel, and somehow he had managed to get a small blaze started while I had been asleep.

Exhausted though I was, my sleep was plagued with horrid dreams that played out the scenario of just a few hours before, and after tossing fitfully for another perhaps another hour, at last I sat up, fully awake and just as miserable.

"You should get some rest."

I was surprised to find that Jack, who should have been nearly as exhausted as I, was wide awake and sitting across the fire from me, poking absently it with a stick to stir the embers, staring into the flames absently.

"I can't sleep," I replied flatly.

"Ah," he said, still gazing blankly into the flames. "You're thinking about Barbossa."

"Yes." The half strangled answer sounded very little like my own voice.

"Terrible thing, that," he said softly. "I am truly sorry, love."

"I should think that you'd be glad to be rid of Barbossa," I said in a choked whisper, once more on the verge of tears.

Jack looked up from the flames to meet my gaze across the fire.

"To be rid of Barbossa from my ship? Yes. To have him mutinied upon and the Code ignored so blatantly? No. He should have been given the same chance he gave me at the very least."

"I thought you hated him for marooning you."

"For marooning me _twice_," Jack corrected me, the hint of a smile playing across his lips, or perhaps I was just seeing the way the shadows from the campfire flickered upon his features. "Still, Barbossa and I have a peculiar sort of respect for one another, and Rabara is a dishonorable scoundrel."

"Aren't you a dishonorable scoundrel, Jack?" I asked, now mesmerized by the flickering patterns in the fire.

"An _honorable_ scoundrel, Maddie," he said with that hint of a grin again. "And an honorable scoundrel was Barbossa –emphasis on scoundrel, mind you, but…"

Jack said no more, for at that moment I'm sure he could see my shoulders beginning to quake as finally gave into my overwhelming sense of loss. I'd lost my home, my practice, my beloved horse, my fiancée, and now the man that I had been willing to sacrifice them all for was gone, taken from me in an instant with the retort of his very own pistol.

I began to sob aloud, in a manner I had not done since I had lost my dear mother as a young girl. I expected Jack to say something to try to silence my hysteria, but he surprised me, and not for the first time. Looking distinctly uncomfortable about having to deal with a wailing female, Jack nonetheless seemed to come to some sort of conclusion in his mind, and he spoke my name softly.

"Madeline."

Jack using my proper name was enough to get my attention, and when he knew he had it, he merely patted the space on the sand next to him. Climbing to my feet in an unsteady and ungainly way, I crossed to the far side of the fire and half-sat, half-collapsed next to Jack. An instant later I was sobbing with great emotion on his shoulder, and he put an arm about mine, staring into the fire solemnly as he did so.

"Get it all out," he murmured softly as I cried. "Get it all out tonight, Maddie, because come morning, you're going to need your wits about you."

I cried for a good long while, but eventually the tears dried up, and my sobbing faded away to an empty, exhausted silence as I sat with Jack.

"It's not that I want to open the flood gates again," Jack said, speaking up when I had at last settled into a state of numb disbelief, "but when I was gathering driftwood I found this near the tide line.

"I thought you should have it," he said, reaching with his free hand for something in the dark behind him. I had no idea that I would experience such a vast and intense sweep of emotions when he held Barbossa's hat out to me.

I wasn't sure how to feel when I took it from him –it was still damp with small bits of sand clinging to it, and its majestic plumes were sodden and limp. I stared at it for a long time, taking in every crease and defect, including the small hole in the rear brim that existed because I had put a bullet through it myself ten years before. Memory upon memory came flooding back to me, but I remained too exhausted and emotionally drained to shed any more tears. All I could manage was a silent nod of thanks at Jack, who knew better than to say anything else at that moment, and I lay down near the fire, curled up miserably while I clutched the hat to myself, and fell into a dead sleep while Jack still contemplated the fire and God-knew-what-else.

~~o~~


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two ~*~

~~o~~

_"Madeline."_

_Jack using my proper name was enough to get my attention, and when he knew he had it, he merely patted the space on the sand next to him. Climbing to my feet in an unsteady and ungainly way, I crossed to the far side of the fire and half-sat, half-collapsed next to Jack. An instant later I was sobbing with great emotion on his shoulder, and he put an arm about mine, staring into the fire solemnly as he did so._

_"Get it all out," he murmured softly as I cried. "Get it all out tonight, Maddie, because come morning, you're going to need your wits about you."_

_I cried for a good long while, but eventually the tears dried up, and my sobbing faded away to an empty, exhausted silence as I sat with Jack._

_"It's not that I want to open the flood gates again," Jack said, speaking up when I had at last settled into a state of numb disbelief, "but when I was gathering driftwood I found this near the tide line._

_"I thought you should have it," he said, reaching with his free hand for something in the dark behind him. I had no idea that I would experience such a vast and intense sweep of emotions when he held Barbossa's hat out to me._

_I wasn't sure how to feel when I took it from him –it was still damp with small bits of sand clinging to it, and its majestic plumes were sodden and limp. I stared at it for a long time, taking in every crease and defect, including the small hole in the rear brim that existed because I had put a bullet through it myself ten years before. Memory upon memory came flooding back to me, but I remained too exhausted and emotionally drained to shed any more tears. All I could manage was a silent nod of thanks at Jack, who knew better than to say anything else at that moment, and I lay down near the fire, curled up miserably while I clutched the hat to myself, and fell into a dead sleep while Jack still contemplated the fire and God-knew-what-else._

_~~o~~_

Anyone who has ever experienced dawn at sea, even at the shore, knows that she is a tease; her first thin, pale line on the horizon begins to spread across the eastern expanse of dark, open water, coquettishly brightening in a measured and steady manner while she engages the eye and commands the attention of any enthralled witness who awaits her coming. Long do we wait on her, enraptured by the distant play of light and color as we anticipate her full glory when the sun finally erupts from the ocean.

Those creatures simpler in kind and thought than man delight in the start of a new day, and sing and chatter its praises long before Aurora herself appears, satisfied with living life at those early moments in the half-dark, unlike man, who always looks ahead for something more splendorous.

Such creatures were stirring in the surrounding forest, and I awoke to the first tentative birdsong upon a still-dark beach, a wan streak just visible upon the horizon, and the slightest orange glow buried in the dying embers of our driftwood campfire. Sitting up slowly, I found that I was stiff and sore, a testament to the fact that I had slept nothing but sand out in the open, as well as a painful reminder, both literally and figuratively, of the way I had swum for my life after the horrid events of the evening past.

I could just make out Jack's darker shape where he lay in the shadows across the campsite, and it was the sound of his light snoring that told me he still slept. Although he wouldn't admit it, I knew that he too, must have been exhausted after seeing to it that I made it all the way from ship to shore. With nothing for us to do until it became light, I opted to let him sleep, and hoped that when he awoke he had a better idea than I of just what it was we would do next now that we had been marooned.

Bored, finding myself full of anxiety, and falling fast into the deep despair I had cried away on Jack's shoulder the night before, I dragged myself to my feet and stretched, thinking to work out the many kinks and knots I'd obtained in my previous battle with the waves. Immediately I regretted it, dropping my arms and settling for a slow, unsteady trudge toward the water's edge to begin to work out the ache in my muscles. I stopped a foot or two from where the foam on the sand washed back and forth, slightly more luminescent than the waves that carried it, wrapped my arms around me, and listened as another type of bird began to call back and forth to its mate in the semi-darkness. Somewhere off to my left, vague movement where the distant curve of the crescent beach met the tree line caught the corner of my eye; another creature was awake to greet the new day, and I involuntarily turned toward what I had glimpsed in my periphery.

A long stare at the distant gloom of the jungle's edge revealed nothing, but just as I began to turn away, something moved again, tugging my attention left once more. This time the motion persisted –a dark shape shambled a pace slowly forward, paused briefly, and then repeated the same. In the faint pre-dawn light, it was difficult to judge exactly how far from me this moving creature was, but it wasn't difficult to judge that slow though it may have been, it was working its way steadily closer.

I squinted at it, trying to determine its size, something that was also difficult to ascertain in the low light with a backdrop of dark trees. It shuffled forward another pace, and as I wondered if the approaching being could see me any better than I could see it, I realized that I was not only frozen in place, but that I'd been holding my breath. Slowly, I let that breath out as I debated whether I should remain immobile or risk moving back the way I had come and closer to Jack. I decided to wait another moment or two, until I had a better idea of the size of that which shuffled closer; I didn't want to run and wake Jack in a panic if it were only some manner of harmless primate, or an injured sheep which had strayed away from the naval settlement on the far side of the island.

Another shuffle forward and I could tell that the creature appeared to walk on three legs – the sky had lightened only slightly, but enough that I could count three limbs. It occurred to me then that the creature was injured, and although I felt pity, I wondered if that made it less or more dangerous.

I waited while it moved forward twice more, and it was then that I could tell, as it cleared the trees and the lightening horizon became its backdrop, that it was much larger than a sheep and taller than any of the small monkeys I knew of. I decided that I'd better be closer to Jack, and I slowly backed away from the water's edge, once step at a time. It seemed as though my moving counterpart on the beach had not seen me, for it did not veer off its course as I moved, but continued its slow progress along the sand as I continued mine.

I was halfway to where I had left Jack sleeping by the ashes of our fire, when enough light from the spreading, pale line on the horizon backlit the moving creature so that I could tell that it was _not_ a creature, but a man, and in fact, a man who limped; what I had thought of as a third limb had been a long stick used as a makeshift crutch, and the man using it hobbled forward another pace. I hardly dared breathe, for the only people upon the island, apart from Jack and myself, were those who served in the King's Navy and resided far across the island.

Another shuffle forward by the approaching man, and I knew that no injured marine or naval officer would have any business so far from their station, and that left only one other realistic possibility.

Struck motionless and speechless by the prospect that I was right and the fear that I was wrong, I stared hard at the slowly moving figure, trying to determine if I were seeing a ghost. A woman of science such as myself is not prone to believing in such things as spirits, but by that point in my life I had seen and heard of much stranger things than ghosts, told in tales by the pirates I knew who had experienced them.

I wondered if this figure, therefore, in the eerie semi-darkness, had come to haunt me, to accuse me of being unable to act, of being unable to save him. Would I be haunted by that specter for the rest of my days? Surely that could be the only message inherent in his manifestation.

And then the apparition in the feeble pre-dawn light _limped_ again, and some deeper part of my mind suggested there would be no reason for a ghost to limp in order to haunt me; something even more fantastic than a phantom had appeared before me on the beach.

I had been just able to hobble stiffly down towards the waterline a few moments before, but nothing short of a bullet would have kept me from breaking into that ungainly run across the pale sand and dried seaweed now more visible with the lightening sky. I hadn't the vigor left to both run and shout simultaneously, but there was no doubt that my counterpart a short distance down the beach had seen me once I began running.

Twice I stumbled in the loose sand beneath my feet and nearly fell, and twice I fought to regain my footing and struggle onward as fast as I could. The distance was further than I had first thought, and the man before me had simply halted in place to await my arrival, too exhausted or injured to make the effort to head forth to meet me. By the time I drew close enough for us to know each other for certain, my pace was little more than an exhausted stumble, and I staggered closer, suddenly realizing that the fact that I was also breathless from crying was contributing to my inability to move any quicker.

It didn't matter; he waited for patiently for me to arrive, and then without a word, Barbossa gathered me in with the arm not holding the makeshift crutch and held me close to him while I cried against his chest. It was several long moments before my sobbing faded away to a weary silence, and several moments more before I could bring myself to let go of him. I took half a step back and gazed up into deep blue eyes that I thought I'd never look into again.

"How?" was all I managed to inquire, although there was so much more that I wanted to ask him.

In reply, Barbossa merely glanced down at his chest, indicating that I should follow his gaze. There, hanging over the currently beating heart of the man I held most dear to mine, was the serpent medallion which had hung there even longer than I had known Barbossa. Embedded next to and displacing slightly the red jewel which adorned its center, was the ball fired by Rabara during the mutiny.

"Long ago, a woman told me 'twould bring me luck," he said softly, clearly speaking of the medallion which was the only thing his father had ever left him as a boy.

"If she only knew just how much luck," I replied softly, gently moving aside the damaged serpent to inspect the dark, deep, medallion-sized bruise that lay upon Barbossa's breast beneath it.

"She did," he replied, wincing more than a little as my fingers probed the injury caused by the medallion being slammed into his sternum upon the impact of the bullet.

"She couldn't have," I said, gazing in wonder at the medallion and the small miracle that had occurred because it had never left the neck of its owner.

"Her name was Tia Dalma," Barbossa replied wearily, and that settled the matter.

~~o~~

Jack Sparrow, still asleep by the cooling gray remnants of our fire, must have been alerted by some vague sixth sense to our arrival, for neither Barbossa nor I had the additional strength required for conversation as I helped him across the beach to our tiny camp, and the hushed sound of only two pairs of boots in sand did not seem enough to disturb his depth of sleep. When we were but a dozen paces away, Jack sat up abruptly, his hand automatically reaching to draw an absent sword, an absent knife, and then a pistol which still contained wet powder. He frowned at it in frank disappointment and let it fall from his fingers into the sand, turning his gaze upward to stare at us long and hard for a moment. A single eyebrow twitched upward a fraction, the only hint at his surprise at seeing Barbossa standing there alive.

"The thing about the sea, Maddie," he said evenly, as if picking up the thread of a conversation we had just been having as he climbed stiffly to his feet, looked himself over, frowned again, and then began to dust off the sand that clung to him with dramatic motions, "is that you just bloody never know what sort of derelict wreckage it might wash up on shore."

"Good mornin' to you too, Jack," Barbossa snarled softly, but there wasn't much bite in his reply, and I helped him to sit down heavily next to the pile of ashes.

"I'll see about breakfast, shall I?" Jack asked, but then sauntered off toward the jungle behind us without waiting for any sort of reply or explanation from Barbossa or myself.

Barbossa jerked his head toward Jack's retreating form. "His riggin' doesn't go all the way to the topgallant, if'n yeh know what I mean."

I smiled, but didn't respond otherwise to Barbossa's comment concerning Jack.

"Let me take a look at that leg," I replied instead, concerned about any other injuries the exhausted man before me might have sustained.

"Nothin' to look at," he said, easing himself to lie back against the small dune behind him. "Just old injuries complainin'."

I nodded, understanding that Barbossa's long-injured leg was probably fairly screaming in protest if he had completed the same swim to shore that Jack and I had.

"I saw the smoke from fire last night and began headin' this way," he added from where he had closed his eyes. "I reckoned it weren't likely Navy, so I might have a chance at findin' some food, but I never figured it to be you.

"Thing is," he went on before I could speak, "that we can't re-light the fire. Marines might not have noticed such a small fire from the far side of the island, but the longer it burns the more likely we'll be discovered."

"What do we do next? I mean, about the naval outpost and getting off this island?" I asked him.

The faint twitch he gave might have been an attempt at a shrug, and I knew he would be asleep any second.

"Hector?"

He opened his eyelids to half mast to peer at me.

"Here." I reached behind me to pick up the hat that lay in the sand where I had slept and set it upon his chest. A faint smile crossed his parched lips for a moment, and he placed a hand upon mine just before his eyes closed in much-needed sleep.

Taking the stout stick that Barbossa had been using for support in my free hand, I sat there watching over him, determined in some feeble way to protect him until Jack got back. What good the stick would do against a wild animal or a patrol of marines, I didn't know, but somehow it made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile, rather than simply sitting exhausted next to the unconscious man beside me.

~~o~~

"_Maddie_."

Jack's voice startled me even though I sensed he'd spoken softly, and I jerked awake from where I was sitting, my head slumped forward on my chest and propped up by the stick stuck in the sand that I had been leaning on. When I glanced up at him I saw that he held in one hand an offered paw-paw from the small pile he had collected and bundled in his shirt.

"Eat this," he said as I accepted it, and he plopped down cross-legged in the sand next to me. 'Here," he said again, handing me the sharp rock he'd also picked up in his wanderings after using it to sever the tough skin of the fruit in his hand.

I followed his example and began to eat, not realizing just how hungry I was until I caught the pungent and pleasant scent of the sliced paw-paw. We ate in companionable silence, and once we had both quickly started in on our second helping, Jack nodded at where Barbossa had passed out.

"Is he going to make it?"

"Yes, he's just exhausted is all –bruised and battered, but he's come through worse." I knew, in fact, that Barbossa had come through worse dished up by Jack himself in the past.

"Good," Jack said, and then spit a few seeds into the sand. "I'll need him to help get me ship back."

I met the dark gaze steadily, knowing that I should have been surprised that the man sitting in the sand next to me calmly eating paw-paws didn't comment on needing Barbossa to find food, avoid the navy, or get off the island, but had merely jumped right to the foregone conclusion in his mind that the _Black Pearl_ would undoubtedly, with Barbossa's assistance, end up back in his possession.

I should have been surprised, but then again, the man sitting next to me was Captain Jack Sparrow.

~~o~~


	43. Chapter 43

Did I mention that paw-paw can be another name for papaya? :)

Chapter Forty-Three

~~o~~

_"Is he going to make it?"_

_"Yes, he's just exhausted is all –bruised and battered, but he's come through worse." I knew, in fact, that Barbossa had come through worse dished up by Jack himself in the past._

_"Good," Jack said, and then spit a few seeds into the sand. "I'll need him to help get me ship back."_

_I met the dark gaze steadily, knowing that I should have been surprised that the man sitting in the sand next to me calmly eating paw-paws didn't comment on needing Barbossa to find food, avoid the navy, or get off the island, but had merely jumped right to the foregone conclusion in his mind that the Black Pearl would undoubtedly, with Barbossa's assistance, end up back in his possession._

_I should have been surprised, but then again, the man sitting next to me was Captain Jack Sparrow._

_~~o~~_

The early morning sun had dragged itself halfway to its zenith by the time Jack deemed it necessary to awaken Barbossa. Even though it was only late morning, the heat of the day was already upon us in our unsheltered location on the beach.

Barbossa opened his eyes and gave me a hint of a smile, and then grimaced and pulled himself into a sitting position with a soft groan. I knew he must be as sore and as stiff as I was, and probably in more pain because of his long-injured leg still protesting the swim he'd been forced to make. I knew I was right when he leaned forward to massage the muscles under the unseen scars that I knew criss-crossed his shin and calf like tangled rigging lines.

"Now that we've let Gramps have his nap," Jack spoke up from my right, earning himself an ice-blue glare from the man on my left, "we need to find ourselves some water, and then scout out the naval port on the far side of this rock."

"And what do ye intend to do once we've scouted it out, Jack?" Barbossa asked as I handed him a cut-open paw-paw, still managing a fair amount of venom despite just being woken a moment before.

"_That _will all depend on what we've scouted, once we've scouted it, because it makes no sense to plan about what you're going to scout, which we don't know we'll scout, unless you've already done the scouting, ay?" Jack affected the air of a man trying his best to be patient.

Barbossa did manage to roll his eyes, and turned his attention to the fruit I'd handed him.

"The thing of it is," Jack continued, "that where there's a naval base, there's often civilian civilization which crops up around it to serve the needs of His Majesty's finest –taverns, blacksmiths, sailmakers..."

"Carpenters, shipwrights," Barbossa finished for Jack, clearly understanding where the other pirate was headed even though I didn't.

"Aye," Jack replied, "and therefore, most probably civilian boats, which are all the more appropriate for appropriating."

"Appropriating?" I asked as the heart of the matter started to become apparent.

"Commandeerin'," Barbossa clarified, his mouth full of paw-paw.

"You mean stealing!" I exclaimed, horrified that my companions were about to drag me along to commit yet another crime against the crown.

Jack gave me a look of minor disgust. "All those big, fancy medical terms you know, and the best you can come up with is _stealing?_ That shows no imagination at all, love."

"How about swipe? Heist? Purloin?" I asked, irritated with Jack.

Before Jack could reply, Barbossa interrupted. "Let's just settle on _acquire_, and get movin'."

"See that?" Jack asked, climbing to his feet as I helped Barbossa to his. "Acquire. _Acquire_ is much more imaginative that _steal_. Lacks the romance of _appropriate_, but then again, I wouldn't expect anything romantic to ever come out of _his _mouth."

Barbossa snarled wordlessly under his breath and hobbled, somewhat less prominently than before his rest, off toward our right.

"Why that way?" Jack asked Barbossa's back

"Because the other way's a dead end –blocked by a cove and a sheer cliff on the far side. It's where I made landfall."

"Ah, right it is then," Jack said, and our sorry trio headed down the beach without much else being said.

~~o~~

An hour and many, many toilsome steps trudged through sand later, Jack, Barbossa, and I stood in a row, staring up at the sheer cliff before us that blocked our path, frustration and thirst plaguing us all.

"Can we swim past it to see what's on the other side?" I asked, more willing to get wet again after an hour's toil in the heat than I was to consider another hour staggering back the same way we came.

"Nay, the breakers come rollin' in somethin' fierce here," Barbossa replied, indicating the white-capped waves. "We'd be broken upon the rocks."

"It'll have to be into the jungle to see if we can find a way up and over since going around is out," Jack added.

It was obvious that Jack was right and there was nothing left for it but to try the jungle, and even if the idea sounded less than appealing, neither Barbossa nor I had the strength left to put up an argument. At least in the jungle it would be cooler, and we'd be more likely to find water. Those thoughts buoyed my sunken spirits enough to follow Jack towards the trees, and we tried our second attempt at finding a way to the far side of the island.

~~o~~

Thirty feet into the trees, Jack and Barbossa were already hacking desperately at the densely woven underbrush with sticks, pieces of lush, green and gummy plant life flying about and sticking to their clothes. While I had thought being beneath the trees would provide us with much needed shade, what I hadn't expected was that the thick jungle would be all but dripping with dankness, and that we would be spending so much of our reserves trying to fight off hoards of biting insects.

Barbossa had given me his hat to hold while he and Jack fought the jungle, crashing and slashing their way forward each hard-earned step, and I used it to my advantage, continually flagging it about myself to sweep away mosquitoes, still frequently having to slap myself to kill the ones that had made it through my outer defenses. After another few yards, both men stopped to rest, breathless from their efforts and the smothering clamminess of the hot jungle. I could see by the defeated look they shared that the reason was not only their fatigue, but a rock face beyond the greenery in front of them that ran up past where the canopy top allowed us to see.

"Blast!" was all that Barbossa could manage while winded.

"What now?" I asked, while the staccato sounds of the three of us smacking more flies and mosquitoes seemed as smothered by the encroaching vegetation as the smashed insects.

"We make our way along the cliff," Jack said, pausing to flick away a sticky, fat caterpillar that was inching its way up a strand of beads towards his head. "The foliage is a little less dense right here along the face, and we'll find a way up faster."

"If there be one," Barbossa added.

"What if there isn't?" I asked, looking first to Barbossa and then Jack.

Jack shrugged blandly, and then turned right, back the way we had come, and started slashing through the resistant greenery. Barbossa fell in next to him, and once again I trailed along, swatting, and flapping, and dripping with sweat under my clothes.

Another discouraging hour later, we did at least find a spot where a the smallest trickles of water ran down the rocks and fell into several small pools, not much more than glorified puddles, and we each managed to catch the water as it dripped and splash it on our faces to wash away the sweat and flecks of jungle, and to quench our great thirst.

Refreshed to the small degree possible in that clammy, crawling place, we decided to head onward after agreeing that if we didn't find a way inland within the next hour, we would cut our way back out to the beach and spend the night there, instead of where we all might be drained of every last drop of blood we still possessed by the fierce swarms.

By that point I made a show of being insulted that the men weren't letting me do my share, and that I was just as capable of hacking my way forward as they were, but mostly it was to give Barbossa, who was tired and pained still by his leg, a way of getting a break without having to lose face in front of Jack.

By the end of the hour, each of the men had taken their turn in the rear, all of us tired enough to admit it. Stopping to rest again before heading once more towards the beach, we had only a few moments' respite before the hoards of hungry bloodsuckers descended upon us again.

"I wish there was a way to get rid of these awful things!" I complained, waving my arms about to fend off the newest arrivals.

Even in the heart of the jungle, we could hear the distant rumble.

"I think you're about to have your wish granted," Jack said, his gaze reflexively turning skyward despite the fact that all he could see was the treetop canopy.

Another rumble overhead lent credence to Jack's statement.

Barbossa groaned with the exasperation we were all feeling. "Back the way we came, to that cave we passed a ways back."

The next rumble was clearly louder, and the tree tops were already beginning to sway with an incoming wind. We hurried along, but even as far down in the jungle as we were, it soon became obvious that the approaching storm was a significant one. The wind reached deep and stirred the undergrowth around us, the temperature dropped noticeably over several minutes, and the insects disappeared with the arriving thunderheads.

"Hurry!" Barbossa cried over the gathering storm, and he urged me on past him after a rapidly retreating Jack Sparrow. "I'll catch up to ye!"

"I'll stay with you," I insisted, knowing that he was still hindered somewhat by his aching leg and wouldn't make it to the cave as fast as Jack or I would.

"Nay!" he spat at me. "Hurry along and keep up with Jack! There be no sense in both of us gettin' wet!"

I reluctantly did as I was told, although it didn't do me much good. Only a moment after Barbossa's order, another thunderclap boomed overhead, and a torrential rain began to tear through the trees, soaking all of us to the skin within moments.

Leaves and fragments of flowers were being torn from their anchors and swirled past our heads with the fierce wind, and by the time we reached our destination, my bedraggled hair was full of bits of color and a small twig or two. I crouched down and followed Jack into the cave, Barbossa arriving only a minute after I did, his hat clutched securely in one hand as he ducked into the cave opening with us.

I use the term _cave_ loosely, for our shelter consisted of little more than a hollowed out space at the base of the cliff, just large enough for the three of us to crowd into and avoid most of the rain. Its only saving grace was the fact that the wind was being driven past the opening and not into it, and it made our misery a shade less than it was already.

Any hope we had that the storm might be a passing shower was the only thing that evaporated that afternoon, for the storm raged on, thunderclaps reverberating against the cliff, and the sound of the rain on leaves was so loud that it drowned out almost any attempt at conversation. With nothing else to do until the storm blew itself out, we each ate one of the last three paw-paws that Jack had saved, and then he folded his arms and promptly fell asleep with his chin resting on his chest.

Barbossa leaned closer and spoke near my ear so that I might hear him.

"Are ye well?"

It took me a moment to answer, as I was tired, sore, cold, wet, and still hungry, but I was alive and so were my companions, and that was what mattered the most. I nodded in answer to his question.

"There's me fine lass," Barbossa said with ghost of a grin. "Ye'd be made of sterner stuff than many a man I've met to come up with that answer."

I managed to muster a small smile in return, and when I met his unfaltering gaze, it was only a moment before I realized how the night before I'd thought I'd never see Barbossa again. I might have given in to tears at that emotional moment, if it weren't for the way he lifted my chin gently to bring my lips to his for a tender kiss. Something within me caught fire at that moment, and I knew that I would follow him through worse than what we had already endured if being with him required it. The second kiss I gave him was longer and much more intense.

"I'm sitting right next to you," Jack muttered indignantly from where he'd appeared to be sleeping, never opening an eye or lifting his head from his chest.

Barbossa took his time ending the kiss and then replied.

"Yer point?"

Jack's only response was that the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile for a moment, and I leaned against Barbossa, resting my head upon his shoulder while I listened to the rain. Despite the noise of the storm raging overhead, my exhaustion and my relief got the better of me, and I fell into a deep sleep, curled up between two pirates.

~~o~~

It was nearly nightfall by the time it stopped raining, and the three of us quickly agreed that there would be no sense in trying to find a way to the top of the cliff with darkness soon to arrive. Already the shadows were growing deeper at the jungle floor, and after crawling out from our cramped refuge, we each ventured off a short way into the thick brush to deal with pressing calls of nature. I was thankful once again for my riding trousers and the fact that wasn't wearing a dress in that wretched jungle, and while I quickly and efficiently tended to the business at hand, I discovered something about myself that I had not before known: just how loud I actually could scream.

For when I straightened up and hauled up my riding breeches, I startled one of the inhabitants of the lower vegetation; when it quickly moved backwards in the dimming light, all I saw was eight very long legs covered in fine gray hair. At least I assume there were eight; I didn't have the presence of mind to actually count them, but the scream I let out involuntarily was in direct proportion to the size of the monstrous thing. Jack and Barbossa, who arrived within seconds of one another, had each thought the scream I produced to be the cry of a local bird or the squeal of a an angry wild pig for a second or two before realizing that the sound actually emanated from a female human.

I stopped once Jack had grabbed me protectively, but I could only point breathlessly at the place where I had seen the creature; Jack peered over my shoulder and then let out an unhappy yelp, taking a quick step back and dragging me with him. I'd like to think he was trying to keep me away from the hairy menace, and not actually using me as a shield.

Barbossa dropped to his haunches to have a closer look.

"Huh, donkey spider," he pronounced, once he'd inspected the source of my terror. "Must've come up fer a breather from his hole after all the rain washed down it."

He turned to where Jack and I were looking equally disgusted and pale.

"They be harmless," he said, "just big 'n hairy. The locals call 'em such because the gray hair be reminiscent of a donkey."

"More like stumbling across Pintel without a shirt on if you ask me," Jack replied, pulling a face and then letting me go after one final shudder. I tried desperately to hang on to the image of a furry little donkey rather than the alternative picture Jack had painted, and Barbossa signed exasperatedly at us and then stood up.

Once my racing heart had slowed down a bit, Jack and I followed Barbossa (it had nothing to do with letting him go first in case there were more large spiders) to where the trickle down the cliff face had swelled into a small stream, and we were able to quench our thirst again, even though we would spend the night without food.

Deciding that our former place of refuge was as good a spot as any, we returned to the cave rather than risk struggling our way through thick, dripping foliage to try to find the beach. Once more we ensconced ourselves in that small space, just as it truly began to get dark. Soon it was difficult to see one another, even though we three sat within inches of each other. I was slightly surprised, therefore, when Jack touched my shoulder, and then ran his hand down my arm to find my hand and lift it up. I soon found it holding a flask.

"Drink up," he said, "and pass it along."

I took a small swig of the rum I knew would be in the flask, and likewise passed it off to Barbossa.

The flask had made several trips back and forth when the night sounds of the jungle began to replace those from during the day, and my anxiety rose about what else might be out in the darkness besides donkey spiders. Jack's disembodied low voice came suddenly from my right.

"A question, Maddie," he said, followed by a short pause. "Would you rather drink wine or rum?"

"Wine. Why?" I asked, wondering what had prompted such a seemingly-random question from Jack.

"'Tis a game fer passin' the time," Barbossa answered. "It be your turn to ask a question."

"Oh."

Clearly this game was something both pirates were accustomed to, and it took me a moment to think of a question.

"Hector, would you rather have a new hat or new boots?"

"I'll be takin' the boots," came the answer from my left. "Jack, would ye rather have a blonde wench or a redhead?"

"Why not both?" came from my right.

"Ye have to pick one or the other."

"Does Maddie count as the blonde one?" Jack asked, clearly trying to annoy Barbossa.

"No! Now answer the question, Sparrow."

"Fine," Jack said, "I'll still take the blonde. Hector, same question, and Maddie does not count as the blonde."

"It'll be the redhead, then," Barbossa answered.

"What?" I asked.

"Madeline, this be a hypothetical game. Me answer's in fun only," Barbossa said from the dark on my left."

"He's always had a thing for red hair," Jack added from my right.

"Have not!" Barbossa spat.

"That's what Scarlett says anyway," Jack added, and I could hear him swallow another mouthful of rum.

"Who is Scarlett?" I demanded, irritated.

In the brief silence that followed, I was fairly certain that Barbossa rolled his eyes, even though he couldn't be seen.

"Could we just be gettin' on with the game?"

"Fine," I said sullenly.

"Madeline, would ye rather have a big fancy house or yer horse?" Barbossa queried.

"That's not a very piratey question," Jack complained.

"Shut up! My turn, my question! The house or the horse?"

My demeanor softened as I thought of Rogue. "You already know my answer."

"Well, I bloody well don't," Jack said, putting the flask in my hand again. "Play the game right, Doctor. Out with it, out with it!"

"My horse, of course," I said, and as I passed the rum to Barbossa once again, for some reason my answer seemed incredibly funny to the three of us. When I could stop giggling, I posed a question for Jack.

"Jack Sparrow," I began, clearly feeling the rum's effects.

"Captain, darling."

"Oh yes, my mistake. Dreadfully sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Captain Sparrow..."

"That's better."

"You're welcome," I added.

"Thanks."

A bit of a confused silence presided for a moment, and then I forged ahead.

"Would you rather deliver a baby yourself, or share a hammock with Turk?"

"What sort of bloody awful question is that?" Jack demanded.

"Answer it!" Barbossa ordered, and another moment of silence passed.

"Are we dressed?" came from Jack.

"What?"

"Turk and me…or me at least."

"Yes," I clarified.

"Then I shall take me chances with the larger of the two horrors, rather than the smaller," Jack replied. "Barbossa?"

"What?"

"Would you rather drink a mug full of spit from the entire crew, or sleep with Large Marge?"

"I'll be drinkin' the spit," Barbossa replied without any hesitation whatsoever.

"That's awful!" I chided him. "Who's Large Marge?"

"I'll point 'er out the next time we make port in Tortuga, then ye'll understand me answer," Barbossa explained.

"That bad, huh?" I asked.

"Worse," Jack chimed in.

"Sparrow, would ye prefer to give up rum fer life, or sleep with Large Marge?"

"If I don't give up the rum, then that would mean that I could drink meself into my own personal oblivion before said sleeping?"

"Aye."

"In that case I'll take the sizeable strumpet, after you point her out to Maddie here, and I risk an attempt to drown meself in rum."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Barbossa remarked snidely, passing off the flask to me again in the dark.

"That's very true," Jack said. "Speaking of that, does Maddie here know about the time that..."

"Just ask a question, Jack," Barbossa interrupted.

"I thought I was. Was I not?"

"Fer the game! Let's get on with it."

"Alright then," Jack said. "Barbossa, would you rather chew a piece of toenail off the foot of one of the crew, or lick 'is armpit?"

"That's disgusting!" I said with a substantial yawn induced by the rum I'd consumed on an empty stomach. I laid my head on Barbossa's shoulder while he mulled over an answer.

"Which member of the crew?" he asked Jack at last.

"Does it matter?

"'Spose not..."

Blissfully, sleep took me before I heard whether or not Barbossa answered.

~o~


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-Four

~o~

_"Just ask a question, Jack," Barbossa interrupted._

_"I thought I was. Was I not?"_

_"Fer the game! Let's get on with it."_

_"Alright then," Jack said. "Barbossa, would you rather chew a piece of toenail off the foot of one of the crew, or lick 'is armpit?"_

_"That's disgusting!" I said with a substantial yawn induced by the rum I'd consumed on an empty stomach. I laid my head on Barbossa's shoulder while he mulled over an answer._

_"Which member of the crew?" he asked Jack at last._

_"Does it matter?_

_"'Spose not..."_

_Blissfully, sleep took me before I heard whether or not Barbossa answered._

~o~

If I had felt cramped and stiff the morning before from waking at dawn upon the open beach of _Isla Perdida_, it was nothing compared to waking at dawn in the cave deep within the jungle. Damp, slightly muddled from drinking rum on an empty stomach the night before, and abruptly awake because of the return of hungry mosquitoes, I was the first to move. When I groaned and tried to extricate myself from where I was wedged in the rock crevice between Barbossa and Jack, who had slid sideways to snore upon my shoulder sometime during the night, each of the men stirred and likewise crawled ungracefully out of our stony refuge.

Once we were fully awake and had returned for water again to the nearby runoff tumbling down the cliff, we decided to pick up where we had left off hacking our way through the undergrowth along the cliff face in search of a way up.

Fortune would smile upon the three of us that morning, but only for a brief period of time; not ten minutes into hacking and slashing again at the dense foliage, we discovered a small clearing with a rocky yet climbable route that led up past the canopy. Knowing that we had nothing to lose by trying it to see if we could find a route inland from the summit of the small mountain we'd been trying to get past, we headed upward, Jack leading the way and Barbossa bringing up the rear.

The first part of the climb proved to be the least difficult, for although the faint trail was uneven, steep, and wet from the storm, it was easy for us to grab the nearest saplings to keep our balance. Once we neared the canopy, the route opened up more –not exactly a path, but more of perhaps a thinning of the underbrush from repeated use by game to get to the water source at the bottom.

We climbed in silence for the simple reasons that we did not have much to say to one another that early in the morning, and also because our efforts to struggle up the muddy and coarse trail were keeping us too winded to make small talk. It was more than once that each of us slipped and fell, and by the time we had reached an elevation of what I estimated to be a couple hundred feet, Barbossa, Jack and I were already accumulating a fair number of bruises, as well as a good deal of mud upon our boots and clothes. Progress was maddeningly slow because of the rain the night before, but we had no other choice than to push onward and upward, trying to reach a place where we might evaluate the far side of the island without being seen.

Eventually we stopped to rest, and I became concerned about the fact that Barbossa, who was still limping more than usual, was further behind me than I was behind Jack. I said nothing, but I knew that every foot we gained in altitude was more work for him.

"We should keep moving," Jack said at last, and I was thankful to him for making sure he'd given sufficient time for all three of us, Barbossa included, to catch our breath. Once more we began to climb, and our efforts were eventually rewarded by the tree line fading away on the inland side of the trail, leaving an upward-sloping rock face covered in low scrub. On the seaward side of the path, trees still blocked most of the view of the beach and the cove we had left behind, but an occasional break in the foliage gave us a glimpse of them far below.

"Can ye see the top yet, Jack?" came Barbossa's voice from behind on the trail.

"Nope –hang on...it looks like we're getting close," Jack called back down after hurrying ahead several more paces.

"Good," Barbossa huffed behind me. "You two go on –I'll catch up yet. The spirit be willin', but this leg of mine..." He sounded too winded to bother to complete his thought.

We wound our way around a bend, scrabbling at times nearly on all fours to keep a purchase on the path. I waited for a moment or two until I had seen Barbossa pass the same curve in the trail, and then began the tedious ascent once more.

A short while later, I caught up to Jack, who was sitting below a small ledge to one side of the trail, and I plunked myself wearilyg down on a rock next to him to wait for Barbossa.

"It would appear that we're nearly there," Jack said to me as I wiped the sweat away from my brow. "Let's just hope there's a way down once we get there."

Still winded from climbing, I nodded in agreement, turning to watch where I expected Barbossa to catch up with us any minute. A moment or two passed, and still he hadn't turned up.

"Give 'im a minute," Jack said, clearly in response to my repeated glances at the trail. "It's a rough climb any way you look at it, and Barbossa does have a few years on us, darling."

I glanced quickly at Jack, expecting a smirk upon his face, but by the weary expression he wore, it was apparent that he was only stating the truth. Still, after another few minutes without any sign of Barbossa, that expression slowly evolved into one of annoyed puzzlement.

"Where the bloody hell is the old goat?" he asked at last.

"Do you think something happened to him?" I asked, becoming concerned that Barbossa hadn't caught up with us even though we had given him plenty of extra time. We both stared at the empty trail for another full minute and a half.

Nothing.

Jack abruptly stood up to look.

Nothing.

I stood up to look and met Jack with a look of concern when the path remained empty. I drew breath to yell to Barbossa, but Jack's hand on my arm stopped me from calling out. He shook his head.

"We don't know who else might hear."

"But where is he?" I asked, worrying more as time continued to pass.

Jack, in response to my question, turned and reached toward the edge of the small cliff we'd been sitting under, and hauled himself up, standing up with one hand to shade his eyes once he'd gained the ledge.

"Do you see him?" I called up.

"What the hell is he doing?" Jack suddenly asked, not really speaking to me.

"What? Do you see him? What do you see?"

"The old rogue is running nearly arse over tea kettle back down the trail," Jack informed me from his vantage point. "Didn't know Barbossa could move so fast. What would make him do that?"

Apparently Jack found the answer when he looked a few degrees to the left, over the trees.

"No, no! That's _my_ ship!"

Jack jumped from the ledge and landed heavily next to me, clearly agitated.

"The _Pearl_!" he cried, bolting past me back the way we had come.

"What?"

"The _Pearl_, she's in the cove!" came Jack's answer from somewhere down the trail.

Quickly I followed him in a barely controlled dash back down the jungle path.

"Bloody Barbossa must've spotted her before us!" came Jack's voice from around the bend ahead of me. "The sly bastard sent me to the top first . . . he pretended to be falling behind to buy time . . ."

An opening in the trees flashed by as I ran, slid and skidded, and sure enough, not only was the _Black Pearl_ reefing sail in the cove, but it was Barbossa's colors that were whipping smartly in the sea breeze at the top of the mainmast.

I was considering the fact that it likely meant that Rabara's mutiny had ended up going badly, when I rounded the bend in the trail too quickly behind Jack, and my feet went out from under me in the mud, sending me sprawling feet first with no little momentum; enough momentum, in fact, that my slide carried me along in the mud and wet leaves right towards the edge of the trail. Flailing frantically, I managed to flip from my backside to my front, grabbing at anything and everything I passed to try and slow myself down.

Rocks pulled away from their moorings in the wet ground, leaves pulled away from brush, and small branches snapped within my grasp, unable to hold my weight. I felt several fingernails tear away as I tried unsuccessfully to dig my fingers into the wet ground, and I screamed as loud as I ever have as my feet shot past the edge of the cliff high above the bay.

~o~

And so my tale, having taken a lengthy course to arrive here, has come full circle to where I began my narrative: with me suspended at the end of an old tree root that protruded from the edge of the cliff I have mentioned.

I held on desperately and screamed for all I was worth.

"JACK!"

It was only a moment before the bandana'd head of my companion appeared briefly to peer down at where I was in a very precarious position, several feet below, and then disappeared again.

"JACK! Don't leave me here!" I screamed again, knowing that I wouldn't be able to hold on for very long. I made the mistake of looking down at the breakers that were crashing on the rocky base of the island, quite some distance below where my feet dangled.

Jack Sparrow poked his head over the side again, grimaced at me, and yelled down in return. "But he'll get to the _Pearl_ first!"

"Damn the bloody _Pearl_, Jack! I need help _now_!" I cried out.

I knew that he was in a quandary as to what course of action to take where he stood at the top of the cliff over my head. While I know he realized, on some level, that he couldn't leave me hanging over the edge of the cliff, for the moment he was wrestling with the choice of leaving me to fend for myself, and getting to the _Black Pearl_ first, or taking time to help me, and risking the very likely possibility that he would again lose his beloved ship to the one man who had taken it from him twice before.

The root I was clinging to pulled out of the dirt two or three inches, and I knew I didn't have time for him to wage war with himself over the decision much longer.

"JAA-AA-AACK!" I screamed again.

"He's going to steal my bloody ship!" Jack cried frantically, appearing at the top of the cliff again, and pointing behind him at the path that led to the bottom of the cliff.

"He's not going anywhere without me, you idiot!" I called up, hoping it was in fact true, and that Jack wouldn't take the insult to heart at that point.

Jack frowned, thinking this over, and then disappeared, apparently not as convinced as I was that I wouldn't be left behind on the island.

Thinking he'd abandoned me to deal with my troubles on my own, I scrutinized the cliff face over my head, trying to see if there might be some way to haul myself to the top.

There wasn't.

I quickly glanced to either side of me, hoping to find a more solid anchorage to grab hold of, but nothing even remotely sturdy presented itself. I began to despair that I was going to die there, smashed upon the rocks below when either my grasp or the flimsy root gave out.

I glanced below again, not at the waves crashing upon the waiting rocks, but at the cliff face itself, searching for a ledge or a tree or anything that might stop my inevitable plunge. A small rocky outcropping, quite narrow, lay some thirty feet or so below me, and it appeared that trying to drop down to it was my only hope of survival. True, I would likely sustain at least a broken leg, or two, but broken legs would mend. A fall any further would be the end of me.

Just when I was debating about whether or not I had the courage to actually let go of the root I clung to, something smacked me in the head, startling me at first, but then I nearly began to weep with relief. A sturdy vine now hung down next to me, and Jack's head peered back over the top of the cliff.

"If Barbossa kills Rabara before I get me hands on that thieving Spaniard, I'll hold you entirely responsible," he quipped.

"Fine by me," I replied, eyeing the vine with both relief and concern. "Are you sure it's strong enough?"

"Aye, but what choice do you have?" was Jack's solemn reply. "One hand at a time, Maddie. There's a brave lass."

I did as Jack instructed; with one hand holding fiercely to the root, I grabbed the vine with the other desperately.

"Easy, now," Jack said with soft encouragement. "Both hands on the vine, love, nice and easy."

I found myself frozen with fear, reluctant to let go of the root completely.

"I can't do it," I said, painfully aware of how slippery my palms were becoming.

"Yes, you can," Jack said, trying to be patient.

"Jack, I _can't_," I sobbed suddenly, terrified and beginning to panic.

"Do it _now_, damn it!" Jack hollered at me. "Grab the bloody vine, woman!"

I did as Jack ordered, and clung to the vine with all my might, swaying back and forth like a very reluctant pendulum.

"Good. Now hang on!"

Jack's instructions were really quite unnecessary; I hadn't planned on doing anything but.

Jack's head disappeared again, and suddenly I felt myself inching toward the top of the cliff, drawn there little by little as Jack hauled back on the vine. Small rivulets of dirt and debris trickled past me as I rose; I could feel them but not see them since I had my eyes closed tight, and I tried not to think about whether or not the vine was going to hold long enough.

Bit by bit I neared the edge of the cliff. Although it was only a few feet to the top, it felt like I was hanging from that vine for an eternity. Eventually though, Jack peered back over the edge to speak, and I was startled enough by how close his voice was that I opened my eyes to look up into his.

"Give me your hand, Maddie," he said firmly, reaching one down toward me.

I cringed at the thought of letting go of the vine, but my desire to have solid ground beneath me as soon as possible aided my release of the makeshift rope. I reached up with one hand, my other arm beginning to tremble with the effort of holding my own weight for so long, and felt Jack's hand clamp firmly around my wrist. I likewise grabbed his.

"Gotcha," he said softly, bracing himself and pulling back. "Let's stop hanging around and get back to my _sh...iiiiiiiiiiip_!"

Jack's purchase on the muddy edge had suddenly given way, and he shot past the edge, my hand sliding out of his grasp as he did so. The next thing I knew, I was hanging from the rocking vine again, a foot from the top, and Jack, scrabbling madly as he toppled, had grabbed the root I had just vacated.

He hung next to and slightly below me, his dark eyes wide with unhappy surprise, and widening even further when his jarring weight caused that root to slip another inch or two out of its mooring.

"_Bugger_!" he swore, glancing over his shoulder at the same view of the surf and the rocks as I had.

"Climb!" he ordered, after evaluating the vast distance between his boots and the ocean below. "Climb, climb, climb, climb, _dammit_, woman, _climb_!"

I climbed, inching my way hand over hand along the short span of vine between myself and the top. Making sure that the branch of scrubby brush nearby was sturdy before I trusted my weight to it, I hauled myself forward on my belly, swinging one leg up and over the top after the other, coming to lie in the mud, breathless and thankful for solid ground of any sort. I had paused for only a fleeting moment, but even so, Jack had not been idle in those few seconds. The very instant my weight had left the vine, Jack had grabbed it and had begun to climb, hot on my heels and quite anxious to join me on _terra firma._

An odd _thwacking_ noise caused me to glance sharply over my shoulder, just in time to see the vine which Jack had previously anchored to a large tree split in two and snake furiously along the ground.

"_Aaauuurrrgh!_"

I hadn't realized until that moment that Jack's voice could actually reach an octave higher than mine, and I threw myself flat on my stomach as I dove for the end of the disappearing vine.

It was alarmingly light.

"_Jaaack!_" I screamed, letting go of the useless vine and peering over the edge. One hand covered in sparkling rings was visible grasping at the edge of the cliff. I could already see that Jack's white-knuckled fingers were beginning to slip, and I grabbed at him, closing both hands around his wrist just as his grip of the rock failed.

Neither Jack nor I said anything as he hung precariously in my grip, and we both discovered that his weight was pulling me ever so slowly forward in the mud toward the edge again. I didn't dare let go of Jack to search for something to hang onto; I wasn't strong enough to hold him one-handed and I knew it.

"Maddie, let go," he called up suddenly.

"No! I won't let you fall!" I answered, wondering desperately how I could make it so.

I felt leaves and small rocks slowing edging past my ribs as my inexorable crawl towards the muddy edge continued.

"Let go! I'm going to try for that ledge!" he called up again.

"No! You'll break a leg! Maybe worse!"

"It's better than being smashed on those rocks!"

"Jack, I can't!"

"Better one than both of us, love!" he cried towards me. "Let go, Madeline, please?"

I knew Jack was right, but letting go of him at that moment would have been the hardest thing I'd ever had to do, if it weren't for the faded yellow sash that dropped over the cliff towards Jack at that precise moment. Shocked, I glanced sideways to see that Barbossa had his foot braced against a well-anchored rock and had the other end of the sash wound about his wrists for further support.

"Let go, lass," he said softly. "I've got 'im."

I did, and with great effort, Barbossa hauled back and dragged Jack, who had immediately grabbed the material dangling near his head, back up to the safety of the ground at the cliff's edge.

~o~


End file.
